WOVEN    IN   THE    TAPESTRY 

BY 
EMILY   POST 


GIFT   OF 


WOVEN  IN  THE  TAPE5TRY 


WOVEN  IN  THE  TAPESTRY 

BY 
EMILY  POST 


New  York 

MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 
MCMV1II 


COPYRIGHT,  igo8,  BY 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 


All  rightt  reserved 


To 
the   memory   of 

BRUCE,  PRICE 

Not  as  being  worthy,  but  as  the  best  she  has. 

this  book  is  dedicated  by 

his  daughter. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION              .            ,  .II 

I.  THE  GARDEN      .            .            .  .       17 

II.  THE  STONE  IDOL          .            .    .  .       23 

III.  THE  ARTIST  AND  THE  HERMIT  .       29 

IV.  THE  LABYRINTH          .  39 
V.  THE  CLOTH  OF  LIFE  .            .  .47 

VI.  TWO  POETS          .            .       |p  .       57 

VII.  THE  PRINCESS  AND  THE  JESTER    65 

VIII.  ON  THE  BEACHES     .        .  -75 

IX.  THE  STORY  OF  THE  MYSTIC  .     83 

X.  THE  POET  AND  THE  PRINCESS  .     9* 

XL  THE  HERMIT'S  DISCIPLE    .  .   105 

XII.  THE  MEETING          .        .,  .    115 

XIII.  AS  IT  IS  DESTINED      .            .  .123 

XIV.  THE  MARRIAGE  OF  THE  PRINCESS    133 


INTRODUCTION 


INTRODUCTION 

rHESE  are  the  tales  of  Ateria,  a 
country  which  long  ago  lay  on  the 
distant  borderlands;  of  the  pagan  King 
Thyaterion  and  his  daughter  the  Prin 
cess  Alaeia;  of  the  Hermit  in  the  forest, 
and  of  the  stranger  who  came  to  live  for 
a  while  as  the  Hermit's  disciple.  And 
also  these  are  the  tales  of  those  who 
lived  in  the  village,  and  of  those  who 
lived  in  the  City,  and  lastly  of  the  Forest 
itself,  and  of  the  Gardens  of  the  King. 

There  has  been  found  in  the  ruins  of 
the  Monastery — that  once  stood  between 
the  City  and  the  Forest — a  map,  which 
makes  plain  the  seemingly  convicting 
stories  of  the  ancient  chroniclers. 

Kahras,  the  scholar,  wrote  of  a  great 
city  of  many  thousand  souls;  of  paved 
streets,  temples  of  marble,  and  build 
ings  of  stone.  He  said  that  the  King's 
domain  lay  directly  against  the  boundary 
of  the  City,  divided  from  it  by  a  wall 
II 


Introduction 

of  massive  stone,  with  -watch  towers  set 
at  equal  distances,  and  at  the  base  a 
moat,  wide  as  a  river. 

A  guarded  draw-bridge  pierced  the 
center  of  this  wall,  and  all  who  went 
to  see  the  King  were  led  by  soldiers 
through  innumerable  courtyards,  long 
passageways  and  other  walled  enclos 
ures,  until  finally  they  arrived  at  an 
inner  court  where  mounted  horsemen 
were  ranged,  spear  in  hand,  like  statues 
wrought  in  bronze. 

Leading  from  this  court,  and  blazing 
with  the  light  of  countless  torches,  was 
the  throne  room:  a  great  vaulted  cham 
ber,  at  the  far  end  of  which  stood  the 
throne,  high-crowned  upon  a  night  of 
steps.  Up  these  steps  on  either  side 
were  lined  the  body-guard  of  the  King; 
clean-limbed  men  from  the  country 
close  beneath  the  sun,  like  images  of 
polished  ebony,  clothed  in  silks  and  hung 
with  ornaments  of  gold;  and  in  their 
hands  they  held  drazvn  cimiters  wrought 
splendidly  and  incrusted  with  jewels. 
Behind  these  blacks  were  soldiers,  and 
behind  them  again  torch-bearers  ranged 
themselves  along  walls  hung  with  tap 
estries  and  the  skins  of  beasts.  At  the 

12 


Introduction 

feet  of  King  Thyaterion  sat  Torqueo 
the  jester. 

To  the  right  of  the  King's  dais  was 
a  second,  lower  one,  for  the  Queen  and 
her  attendants. 

Of  the  Princess  Alaeia,  Kahras 
wrote  that  he  had  seen  her  stand  beside 
the  imperial  throne  like  a  statue  of 
some  goddess  carved  in  ivory  and  hung 
with  offerings  of  gems;  for  she  was 
robed  in  jewels,  from  the  diadem  that 
crowned  her  head  to  the  golden  sandals 
on  her  feet:  lifeless  she  might  have 
been,  save  for  her  clear-gazing  eyes, 
which  seemed  to  penetrate  the  mind  of 
each  man  in  the  multitude  that  made 
the  pageant  at  the  foot  of  her  father's 
throne. 

So  much  for  the  account  of  Kahras  f 
Now,  besides  Kahras  there  was  another 
scribe,  named  Ghan.  Ghan  lived  in  a 
thatched  hut  on  the  edge  of  a  river 
along  whose  opposite  banks  were  the 
Gardens  of  the  King.  These  gardens 
he  had  seen  always — for  leading  directly 
from  the  village  where  he  lived,  was  a 
wide  bridge  over  which  the  villagers 
might  go  at  any  time  to  the  palace, 
which  stood  at  the  summit  of  many  ter- 

13 


Introduction 

races,  where  its  marble  towers  and  col 
onnades  gleamed  through  the  trees. 

Ghan  did  not  write  of  a  vaulted  throne 
room,  nor  of  pomp  and  ceremonial:  by 
his  account  the  King  sat  chiefly  in  an 
open  court  walled  with  vines  and  over 
looking  the  terraces  of  the  garden. 
Torqueo,  the  jester,  was  always  near 
him,  but  there  were  neither  courtiers 
nor  soldiers. 

Often  and  often  had  Ghan  seen  the 
Princess;  and  he  zvrote  of  her  as  a 
blithesome  maid  sitting  upon  her  fa 
ther's  knee,  her  arm  clasped  about  his 
neck,  and  listening  to  all  discourse  with 
eager  eyes,  her  face  a  changing  mirror 
of  many  moods.  "She  was  indeed," 
Ghan  wrote,  "a  sunny-souled  Princess, 
our  Alaeia;  zvho,  little  more  than  a 
child,  was  no  less  the  Princess;  and 
being  the  Princess,  was  no  less  that 
dearest  maid  who  held  the  hearts  of  the 
village  people  in  her  own. 

In  addition  to  these  two  opposed  ac 
counts  is  one  of  a  traveller  who  jour 
neyed  through  a  vast  forest  and  brought 
back  word  of  an  enchanted  Princess 
in  a  garden  surrounded  by  unscalable 
cliffs.  This  was  all  the  traveller  could 

14 


Introduction 

learn,  though  he  came  to  a  point  beyond 
which  he  could  advance  no  further, 
where  he  was  told  lay  this  very  garden. 

Then  there  is  the  record  left  by  a 
ship's  captain  who  came  once  to  an 
unknown  coast,  which  he  afterwards 
learned  was  Ateria;  but  he  saw  there 
neither  buttressed  walls,  nor  gardens, 
nor  enchanted  forest — only  a  rocky 
shore  broken  by  sandy  beaches. 

Now  at  last  with  the  aid  of  the  map, 
it  is  easy  to  see  that  all  these  accounts 
were  true:  In  the  very  center,  like  a 
jewel,  lay  the  Garden  of  the  King. 
The  southeastern  portion  was  low  and 
sloped  with  sandy  beaches  into  the  sea; 
the  northern  part  of  the  eastern  bound 
ary  was  a  rocky  coast.  All  of  the  gar 
den  rose  gently  toward  the  north  where 
high  walls  cut  it  off  completely  from 
the  City. 

The  castle  on  the  southern  side  stood 
free  and  clear  with  terraces  sloping 
gently  down  to  the  river  and  the  village. 
In  the  west,  steep  mountains  made  an 
impassable  barrier  between  the  garden 
and  the  forest  whose  only  gateway  was 
the  Labyrinth  of  the  Princess,  through 
ivhich  she  alone  could  go  from  the  Gar- 

15 


Introduction 

den  into  the  Forest.  Somewhere  be 
tween  the  Village  and  the  City,  in  the 
heart  of  the  Forest,  cut  off  on  the  north 
and  the  south  by  mountain  chains,  was 
the  Hermit's  hut. 

Such  was  a  portion  of  the  kingdom 
of  Ateria  during  the  reign  of  Thyaterion, 
last  of  the  pagan  rulers,  but  not  the  last 
of  their  blood;  for  that  has  descended  in 
many  noble  lines  even  to  this  day. 


16 


THE  GARDEN 


THE.  GARDEN 

LONG,  long  ago,  so  long  indeed  that 
Earth  herself  was  young,  there 
was  made  a  forest  garden — a  garden 
that  Nature  had  planned  in  a  girlhood 
mood,  and  into  which  she  had  put  all 
the  gladness  of  a  summer  holiday. 

The  tree  tops  shot  up  gaily,  each  as 
it  pleased;  the  little  creepers  wandered 
fearlessly,  embraced  the  trees  and  plants 
they  loved,  and  ran  unchecked  among 
the  flowers  and  over  the  moss.  Then 
Nature  laughed!  a  happy,  joyous  laugh. 

Now  high  up  on  the  mountain  top  a 
little  spring  lay  dozing  in  his  bed  of 
rock:  but  at  the  laugh  of  Nature  he 
raised  his  head,  and  full  of  curiosity, 
peeped  over  the  mountain's  rim.  And  as 
he  peeped,  Nature  laughed  again  so  hap 
pily  that  the  little  spring  bubbled  up 
with  laughter  too,  and  straightway  ran 

19 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

over  the  edge  of  the  mountain  down 
into  the  very  heart  of  the  garden ;  carry 
ing  the  glad  news  all  the  way  to  the 
river  in  the  valley  below. 

The  years  went  on,  and  Nature  grew 
from  a  joyous  girl  to  a  busy  mother; 
but  still  she  loved  to  spend  here,  amid 
her  own  wild  bloom,  each  moment 
spared  from  toil  in  all  the  gardens  of 
mankind.  Of  these  latter  the  most  beau 
tiful  by  far  was  the  great  King's  Gar 
den  which  stood  next  this  forest  tangle, 
where  the  highest  tops  of  the  forest 
trees  overlooked  the  long  straight  walks, 
terrace  steps,  fragrant  plants,  and 
smooth  round  trees,  and  told  the  wild 
wood  plants  of  all  this  stately  beauty. 
Then  the  forest  green  things  sighed, 
"Oh,  why  were  we  not  chosen  for  the 
Garden  of  the  King?" 

Now  as  it  chanced,  the  great  King's 
gardener  came  one  day  to  the  edge  of 
this  playground  of  Nature's  girlhood, 
and  stood  amazed  that  the  forest  held 
this  beauty  in  its  depth.  Then  his  eyes 
sparkled,  and  clapping  his  hands  he 
cried:  "O  ho!  but  this  will  make  a 
garden  worthy  of  a  King — a  garden  such 
as  the  eye  of  man  has  never  beheld !" 
20 


The  Garden 

All  the  trees  and  vines  and  plants 
heard,  and  their  leaves  danced  airily  in 
their  gladness,  for  now  at  last  they  were 
to  be  in  that  wonderful  unknown  gar 
den  of  which  the  highest  tree  tops  whis 
pered.  But  when  cruel  sharp  things  came 
in  the  hands  of  men,  they  were  afraid, 
and  with  quaking  stems  cried  out  to  the 
brook  to  quickly  run  and  find  dear 
Mother  Nature!  But  the  Forest  was 
now  under  the  discipline  of  Man.  So 
her  children  tried  to  be  brave  by  whis 
pering  one  to  the  other,  "We  are  to  be 
a  garden  such  as  the  eye  of  Man  has 
never  yet  beheld !" 

All  this  while  the  soft  moss  carpet 
was  pulled  up,  and  bricks  and  pebbles 
pressed  down  hard  upon  the  open  side 
of  Earth;  trees  were  torn  from  her 
resisting  arms,  the  trailing  culprit  vines, 
that  tried  to  run  and  hide  beneath  the 
plant's  protecting  leaves,  were  caught 
and  bound  to  hard,  relentless  stakes. 
But  through  all  the  ache  and  change, 
with  the  faithful  love  of  a  mother, 
Nature  watched,  awaiting  the  moment 
when  she  should  be  allowed  to  return. 
Then  with  her  healing  touch  she  cured 
the  hurts  and  laid  her  soothing  hand 
21 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

upon  the  straightened  banks  of  that 
babbling  messenger,  the  brook,  in  whose 
ripples  the  sound  of  that  first  day's 
laughter  would  mingle  always  with  the 
soft  veiled  sigh  of  one  who  has  lived 
and  seen. 

At  last  the  garden  was  finished,  and 
the  great  King  came  with  all  his  court 
to  see.  And  it  was  the  most  beautiful 
garden  the  eye  of  man  had  ever  beheld ! 
The  flowers  that  had  lived  grew  to  a 
fuller  beauty;  the  trees  were  round  with 
perfect  symmetry,  not  sending  jagged 
shoots  in  ill  proportion  up  to  meet  the 
sky :  all  was  unity  and  perfection. 

And  the  King  marvelled  and  was 
pleased,  and  around  the  neck  of  the 
man  that  had  done  this  thing  he  hung  a 
golden  chain. 

But  a  wood-thrush  sat  on  a  willow 
bough,  looking  in  vain  for  that  topmost 
branch  of  the  highest  tree  that  the  sun's 
rays  had  first  kissed  each  morning ! 
And  his  notes  piped  low  as  he  alone 
saw,  deep  hidden  under  the  vines'  lux 
uriant  growth,  the  nails  and  cords  that 
bound  them  to  the  trellis. 


22 


THE  5TONL  IDOL 


II 

THE  STONE,  IDOL 

ON  a  hill  above  the  Palace,  at  the 
end  of  an  avenue  of  gigantic 
trees,  stood  the  image  of  a  pagan  God. 
He  was  hewn  from  stone  of  a  greyish 
white,  and  was  sitting  as  tailors  do ;  his 
arms  outstretched  as  though  he  might 
but  that  moment  have  threaded  the 
needle  of  destiny  with  a  new  thread  of 
life,  to  weave  into  the  tapestry  of  the 
Universe.  His  stone  eyes  stared  un- 
blinkingly,  serenely,  into  space;  and 
upon  his  lips  there  was  a  broad  smile — 
a  carved  stone  smile. 

When  the  Princess  was  a  little  child 
she  often  begged  that  she  might  go 
to  see  the  "happy  man"  who  always 
laughed  when  she  was  near;  and  she 
used  to  prattle  to  him  and  include  him 
in  the  games  she  played  in  the  patch  of 
sunshine  at  his  feet. 

25 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

Perhaps  it  was  because  as  a  little  child 
she  had  loved  him,  that  when  she  was 
growing  to  young  womanhood  and  her 
soul  began  to  make  its  question  marks 
upon  the  slate  of  her  consciousness,  she 
used  to  stand  for  hours  resting  her 
elbow  on  the  Idol's  knee  and  look  above 
the  lips  into  the  unblinking  eyes  that 
stared  into  space. 

"Ah  thou  dear  God,"  she  thought,  "I 
would  I  had  a  portion  of  thy  wisdom; 
a  portion  of  the  knowledge  of  truth, 
of  which  thou  art  thyself  the  emblem ! 
Thou  sittest  with  thine  arms  out 
stretched  in  benediction,  thine  eyes  look 
fearlessly  into  the  future,  thine  unfading 
smile  foretells  the  best,  the  happiest  side 
of  life." 

The  more  the  Princess  stood  before 
the  Idol,  the  more  fervent  she  became, 
and  soon  she  brought  him  offerings  and 
filled  the  wrought  bronze  incense  bra 
ziers.  And  through  the  burning  in 
cense,  she  seemed  to  see  his  smile  grow 
broader  and  his  eyes  look  down  upon 
her  with  loving  kindness ;  until  at  last 
she  prayed  that  he  might  be  alive,  that 
he  might  take  her  by  the  hand  and  talk 
to  her. 

26 


The  Stone  Idol 

"Tell  me,  tell  me,  all  the  things  I  long 
to  know — or  send  me  some  wise  coun 
sellor!  Not  one  who  prates  of  Court 
and  seemly  manners,  but  one  with  un 
derstanding  heart,  and  soul,  and  mind, 
who  will  take  my  hand  and  lead  me 
through  the  gardens  in  the  sunlight,  and 
sit  with  me  beside  the  river  and  tell  me 
all  I  cannot  find  in  books — Ah,  books 
are  dry  like  powdered  grain,  and  I  am 
thirsty !" 

So  she  prayed ;  and  brought  him  offer 
ings,  until  one  day  as  she  watched  the 
incense  burn  and  the  fragrant  smoke 
arise  and  melt  into  the  air;  the  red 
gold  rays  of  the  setting  sun  filtered 
through  an  opening  in  the  archway  of 
trees,  and  shone  with  ruddy  brilliance 
upon  the  Idol's  face. 

The  Princess  held  her  breath,  believ 
ing  that  the  sunset  glow  was  life  and 
animation  within  the  image ;  but  the 
sun's  rays,  pointing  higher,  became  an 
aureole,  then  a  canopy,  and  finally  with 
drew.  The  last  breath  of  incense  melted 
cold  and  clear,  and  suddenly  she  knew 
that  he  was  but  an  image  of  stone  with 
sightless  eyes  and  grinning  lips,  and  that 
all  the  vision  of  his  majestic  peace  and 
27 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

fathomless  wisdom  was  in  her  own 
heart.  In  violent  anger  she  struck  the 
image  again  and  again  until  her 
strength  was  spent  and  she  fell  prostrate 
at  his  feet. 

But  the  stone  eyes  of  the  Idol  stared 
unblinkingly,  serenely  into  space;  and 
upon  his  lips  there  was  a  broad  smile — 
a  carved  stone  smile. 


28 


THE  ARTIST  AND  THE 
HERMIT 


Ill 

THE.  ARTIST  AND  THE  HLRMIT 

AT  the  edge  of  the  village,  where  the 
hills  spread  in  a  widening  radius  to 
the  forest  on  one  side  and  the  sand- 
dunes  on  the  other,  where  the  rolling 
meadows  came  to  his  very  door,  dwelt 
Aru  the  artist.  He  always  sang  as  he 
worked,  because  he  loved  his  pictures 
better  than  anything  else — better  even 
than  the  pretty  maid  with  the  long  fair 
tresses,  who  lived  in  the  cottage  where 
the  roses  climbed.  He  painted  her 
portrait  many  times,  and  grew  with 
each  attempt  more  self-complacent. 

As  he  stood  one  day  before  her  lat 
est  portrait,  putting  here  a  touch  and 
there  a  stroke,  the  smile  grew  broad 
upon  his  lips,  and  throwing  down  his 
brush  he  cried,  "Ah,  truly  I  am  a  great 
artist,  and  this  my  masterpiece!"  He 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

sauntered  gaily  to  the  door,  and  looking 
up  the  village  street,  decided  on  a  holi 
day.  "I  will  go  into  the  Forest,"  he 
thought,  "the  day  is  young,  perchance  I 
may  reach  the  Hermit's  hut." 

As  he  passed  singing  through  the 
village,  the  people  said  one  to  another, 
"See!  how  happy  is  Aru,  the  painter. 
What  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  be  great!" 
And  as  Aru  went  on  climbing  the  steep 
path  which  led  over  the  mountains  into 
the  Forest,  his  mood  became  so  merry 
that  he  sang  louder  than  ever.  He 
went  on  and  on  until  at  last  he  saw  the 
smoke  of  the  Hermit's  hut  in  the  dis 
tance.  Quickening  his  pace  he  crossed 
a  bridge  that  spanned  a  deep  gorge, 
through  which  the  river  plunged,  then, 
following  the  level  bank  upon  the  far 
ther  shore,  he  came  to  the  hut.  The 
door  was  shut,  but  nothing  daunted,  he 
rapped  loudly,  calling,  "It  is  I,  Aru  the 
artist!"  as  though  it  were  indeed  an 
honor  for  the  Hermit  to  have  such  a 
guest. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  Hermit,  like 
a  living  portrait,  stood  within  the  lin 
tel's  frame.  His  hood  was  drawn  far 
over  his  face,  so  that  his  countenance 

32 


The  Artist  and  the  Hermit 

was  blurred  in  deep  shadow,  but  he 
bade  Aru  enter,  asking  him  how  fared 
he  and  his  art. 

Aru  needed  no  second  bidding,  with 
head  erect  and  fluent  tongue  he  told  of 
his  ability  in  handling  light  and  shade 
and  form  and  color,  until,  encouraged 
by  his  own  recital,  he  no  longer  hesitated 
to  declare  his  genius  to  be  unequalled. 

"Indeed,"  the  Hermit  said,  "and  canst 
thou  exceed  in  skill  the  great  masters 
of  the  past  as  well  as  the  lesser  ones  of 
thine  own  day?" 

Pressing  the  grey  wall  of  his  hut,  an 
unseen  door  swung  open,  revealing  an 
inner  chamber,  on  the  smooth  stone  walls 
of  which  were  paintings  of  such  sur 
passing  excellence,  that  Aru  stood  as 
one  bereft  of  speech  before  the  power  of 
the  master  who  had  worked  these  won 
ders.  In  discouragement  his  head  sank 
on  his  breast,  and  his  pride,  which  but 
a  moment  since  had  shone  with  such 
sure  brilliancy,  was  extinguished  as  the 
light  of  a  fallen  star. 

"It  cannot  be,"  he  cried,  "that  such 
a  thing  was  done  by  man!  Surely  this 
is  but  a  vision,  that  thou  hast  brought 
to  earth  from  higher  spheres.  Tell  me, 

33 


W 'oven  in  the  Tapestry 

was  it  man  or  spirit  who  spread  these 
colors  and  made  this  living  wall?" 

The  Hermit  answered,  "These  paint 
ings,  Aru,  were  done  by  the  painter 
Abbaris,  who  as  his  years  grew  ripe 
retired  from  the  world  and  lived  to  the 
fulness  of  his  span  of  life,  an  anchorite, 
in  this  very  hut.  These  last  wonders 
were  thus  accomplished  by  man,  mortal 
as  thyself — " 

But  Aru  heard  no  more.  He  fled 
with  downcast  eyes  through  the  forest 
where  he  had  passed  so  joyously  in  the 
morning.  Again  in  his  studio  night  fol 
lowed  day,  and  day  came  after  night 
many  times,  but  Aru  did  no  work. 
What  use  to  strive,  he  thought,  since  he 
could  never  equal  the  painter  Abbaris. 

He  went  for  consolation  to  the  pretty 
maid  in  the  rose-covered  cottage;  but 
she,  scarce  recognizing  Aru  in  this  dole 
ful  mien,  found  him  far  less  pleasing 
than  before,  when  telling  of  his  master 
piece,  wherein  her  face  should  be  the 
wonder  of  future  generations. 

She  smiled  and  cast  alluring  glances 
out  of  her  velvet  eyes,  but  he  came  not 
under  their  charm,  then  she  was  merry 
and  tried  to  make  him  laugh,  but  he 

34 


The  Artist  and  the  Hermit 

would  not.  She  threw  him  little  queries 
about  his  pictures,  such  as  he  never  had 
failed  to  seize,  but  his  answers  were 
like  futile  revolutions  of  a  windmill 
when  the  wind  is  dying  down.  So  the 
pretty  maid  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
glanced  at  her  reflection  in  the  glass, 
and  then  began  to  weave  a  new  hat 
for  the  youth  with  the  smiling  glances, 
who  drove  the  bullock  cart. 

Finally  in  desperation  Aru  ran  back 
to  the  Hermit.  "Alas,  alas!"  he  cried, 
"why  didst  thou  show  me  that  greater 
man's  creation!  For  now — though  idle 
ness  destroy  my  life,  I  can  never  paint 
again !" 

But  the  Hermit's  eyes  glowed.  "Still 
thy  thoughts  bend  ever  inward,  bound 
hard  and  fast  upon  thyself.  Fool!"  he 
said,  "come  with  me." 

He  left  the  hut  and  the  painter  fol 
lowed  dumbly  a  path  which  began  a 
steep  ascent.  After  a  while  they  came 
to  an  open  space,  and  the  Hermit 
paused.  A  great  panorama  of  moun 
tains  spread  before  them:  snow-tipped 
peaks  and  sheer  straight  sides  cut  hun 
dreds  of  feet  downward  to  the  rushing 
cataracts  of  the  river  that  looked,  from 

35 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

where  they  stood,  like  the  little  stream 
of  water  running  from  the  eaves  of  a 
village  hut  after  the  rain. 

The  Hermit  turned  from  the  sub 
limity  of  the  view  and  looked  upon  the 
artist.  "Fool !  doubly— fool !  Thou  art 
a  tall  man — far  above  the  middle  height, 
art  thou  not?  And  yet  compare  thy 
puny  stature  with  that  of  yonder  moun 
tains.  Wouldst  thou,  because  thou  canst 
not  stand,  as  they,  measuring  from  earth 
to  heaven,  crawl  on  thy  belly  like  an 
earth-worm?  Down  in  the  valley  there 
lies  a  little  stone — must  it  roll  itself  un 
der  the  first  cart  wheel  that  passes 
because  it  too  cannot  be  a  mountain? 
Why  thinkest  thou  solely  of  the  measure 
of  thine  own  worth?  Hast  thou  lost 
aught  since  thou  earnest,  like  a  frog 
puffed  up,  before  me?  Why  need  truth 
annihilate  thee,  since  truth  forever  must 
remain  the  object  of  attainment?" 

As  the  Hermit  spoke  Aru  looked  up 
to  the  mountains'  height,  and  then  down 
to  where  he  imagined  lay  the  little 
stone ;  and  all  at  once  the  veil  was  lifted 
and  he  saw  clearly! 

Aru  went  back  to  his  paintings,  but 
whether  they  were  worse  or  better,  there 

36 


The  Artist  and  the  Hermit 

was  ever  much  difference  of  opinion. 
One  thing  is  true ;  that  he  never  was  as 
great  as  the  painter  Abbaris,  and  an 
other,  that  he  no  longer  so  easily  pleased 
the  people  in  the  Village.  But  though 
perhaps  he  did  not  sing  as  loudly  as  he 
used,  it  was  no  sign  that  his  heart  was 
not  in  what  he  did — but  his  joy  was  of 
another  kind  and  his  work  meant  what 
a  man's  work  must  when  a  man  has  be 
held  even  a  glimpse  of  the  depth  and  the 
height. 


37 


THE  LABYRINTH 


IV 
THE,  LABYRINTH 

WHEN  the  Princess  Alaeia  drew 
near  her  fifteenth  birthday,  she 
dreamed  three  wonderful  dreams.  In 
the  first,  she  was  a  fish  swimming  in  a 
Forest  river,  and  as  she  swam  near  the 
surface  of  the  water,  a  hind  came 
down  to  the  river  to  drink.  In  the 
overhanging  branches  of  a  tree  she  saw 
a  bird  with  sleek  grey  plumage;  and 
the  bird  must  have  been  singing,  for 
the  grey  ruff  under  his  throat  was  danc 
ing. 

In  the  second  dream  the  Princess  was 
the  hind  leaping  through  the  Forest  and 
along  the  banks  of  the  river ;  in  the  third 
dream  she  was  the  bird  singing  in  the 
tree!  so  joyously  that  she  awoke  with 
laughter  on  her  lips  and  the  last  trill 
of  the  song  in  her  throat. 

The   memory   of  the   Forest   was   so 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

clear  that  she  wondered  during  the 
days  that  followed  whether  her  dream 
had  been  no  dream,  but  rather  a  vision 
of  previous  births  wherein  she  had  been 
some  wild  wood's  creature.  Gradually 
her  longing  for  the  Forest  grew,  until 
she  looked  at  the  dividing  mountains 
as  though  they  must  vanish  like  a  wall 
of  mist  before  the  sun  of  her  desire. 
But  all  along  the  mountain  border  on 
the  west  the  sides  were  sheer,  and  she 
looked  in  vain  for  a  path. 

At  last,  as  she  sat  at  the  edge  of  the 
little  stream  running  through  the  gar 
den  that  once  had  been  Nature's  own, 
she  leaned  far  over  the  bank  so  that  the 
color  of  her  dress  danced  on  the  surface 
of  the  water,  and  suddenly,  as  though 
the  soft  whispering  sigh  of  the  gurgling 
stream  broke  into  song,  she  seemed  to 
hear:  "Lab— lab— labyr— r  r— rinth!" 

Now  in  the  garden  of  the  King  there 
was  a  Labyrinth  whose  tangled  secret 
might  be  known  to  the  Princess  only, 
and  in  this  there  is  a  tale: 

As  each  young  daughter  of  the  royal 
line  grew  to  be  a  maid,  there  developed 
in  her  mind  the  picture  of  the  Laby 
rinth;  so  that  she  knew— and  knew  not 
42 


The  Labyrinth 

how  she  knew — the  secret  of  its  wind 
ing  way. 

But  also  as  each  Princess  had  be 
come  a  wife,  the  image  faded,  so  that 
none  again  could  find  the  way  until  the 
next  young  daughter  of  the  reigning 
King,  following  her  inherited  impulse, 
ran  lightly  through  the  intricate  maze 
and  stood  for  the  first  time  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  Forest — alone. 

Once,  many  years  before  Alaeia's 
birth,  a  Princess  in  the  Forest  loved  a 
knight;  .  .  .  and  she  was  frail — she 
tried  to  retrace  her  steps,  but  in  the 
Labyrinth  the  plan  that  had  been  so 
clear  in  her  maiden  mind  vanished 
from  her  memory.  Bewildered,  she 
wandered  back  and  forth  between  re 
lentless  walls,  and  never  could  she  find 
the  path  which  she  had  lost.  Ever 
afterwards  the  entrance  to  the  Labyrinth 
bore  this  inscription  carved  in  stone, 
though  no  one  knows  by  whom  or 
when: 

'Those   who   are   born   to   high   places 

dare  not  falter. 

Those    who    are    free,    are    bound    by 
stronger  bonds  than  chains." 

43 


Woven  In  the  Tapestry 

And  now  as  the  time  had  come  for 
this  mystery  to  be  made  clear  to  the 
Princess  Alaeia,  even  as  it  had  been  to 
all  the  daughters  of  her  race,  suddenly 
she  turned  from  the  purling  stream  and 
cried  aloud: 

"Why  have  I  not  known  before  that 
between  those  clumps  of  roses  climbing 
over  that  great  grey  rock  is  an  open 
space ;  whence  leads,  amid  a  tangled  way 
of  thorns,  a  road  as  clear  and  true  as 
the  path  of  the  rising  moon  upon  the 
Sea !" 

Then  straight  as  the  bee  flies  to  the 
entrance  of  the  hive,  she  sped  to  the 
foot  of  the  hanging  gardens;  between 
the  curtain  of  protecting  thorns  she 
passed  into  the  inner  court.  There  be 
fore  her  was  the  way,  but  for  a  mo 
ment  she  paused,  reading  the  inscription 
as  though  it  had  been  carved  for  her 
alone,  and  in  her  heart  she  whispered, 
"It  is  well."  Then,  like  children  who, 
having  said  their  prayers,  turn  suddenly 
to  play,  she  sped  through  the  wind 
ing  paths;  each  opening  arch  that  led 
aright,  she  took  unfalteringly,  each  turn 
to  right  or  left  she  made  without 
delay,  until  the  last  turn  led  her  to  the 


The  Labyrinth 

hollow  tree  which  made  a  gateway  on 
the  Forest  side.  Within  the  opening  of 
the  tree  she  stood,  her  gaze  wandering 
through  the  Forest's  green  to  where  she 
saw  upon  a  river's  bank  a  hut.  A  man 
in  dun-colored  gown  and  hood  was 
standing  in  the  doorway.  He  neither 
moved  nor  spoke  as  the  Princess  drew 
near. 

Under  the  shadow  of  his  hood,  his 
eyes  seemed  to  gaze  out  of  great  depths, 
and  to  penetrate  through  and  far  be 
yond  everything  that  they  saw.  And 
then  just  as  the  picture  of  the  Laby 
rinth  had  come  before  her  mind,  the 
Princess  knew  that  she  was  standing 
before  the  Hermit  of  the  Forest.  Her 
voice  came  whispering  as  though  she 
feared  the  sound  might  wake  her  from 
a  dream,  "Wilt  thou  teach  me,  Mas 
ter?" 

The  Princess  felt  the  Hermit's  un 
derstanding  measure  every  hope  and 
thought  of  her  young  mind,  and  as  she 
stood  within  the  radius  of  his  gaze  she 
heard  his  voice,  and  it  was  unlike  the 
voice  of  any  man  that  she  had  ever 
heard — it  seemed  as  much  a  portion  of 
the  Forest  as  the  rushing  streams,  the 

45 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

sighing  wind,  the  whispering  leaves;  it 
seemed  an  echo  still  vibrating  from  the 
ages  before  man  was.  And  then  the 
meaning  of  his  words  gradually  filtered 
through  her  vague  perceptions  and  the 
Princess  heard:  "It  is  written  thou 
shalt  come  when  thou  hast  aught  to 
ask,  yet  this  remember :  thy  need  alone 
may  demand  an  answer,  thy  desire  must 
remain  unfilled.  In  the  furrows  through 
which  the  ploughshare  has  passed,  may 
grain  be  sown;  trees  are  planted  only 
when  one  has  digged  deep  into  the 
earth.  In  the  Forest  thou  shalt  be  called 
not  Alaeia  (royal)  but  La'ia  (free)." 

The  Princess  waited  eagerly  for  fur 
ther  words — but  the  Hermit  only 
smiled. 


THE  CLOTH  OF  LIFE 


THE  CLOTH  OF  LIFE 

AS  a  mist  descends  with  increasing 
thickness  upon  the  land,  so  dissat 
isfaction   descended  upon  the   spirit   of 
the  Princess. 

On  a  scroll  which  the  Hermit  gave 
her  she  read  of  heroes  who  had  done 
noble  things;  and  the  more  she  read, 
the  more  weary  she  became  of  the  daily 
repetition  of  her  own  existence,  so  that 
her  heart  was  filled  not  alone  with  the 
desire  to  do  some  great  and  noble  deed, 
but  to  do  this  deed  without  delay.  She 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  gardens,  gazing 
wistfully  at  the  river,  hoping  perhaps  to 
see  some  one  whom  she  might  rescue 
from  its  depths.  But  the  water  flowed 
happily  on,  carrying  no  heavier  burden 
than  its  own  ripples.  She  thought  also 
of  rushing  into  a  burning  dwelling  to 
save  imperilled  children;  but  upon  the 

49 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

river's  other  bank  the  homes  of  the  vil 
lagers  lay  peaceful  in  the  sun. 

The  Princess  walked  moodily  toward 
the  gallery  of  the  Queen;  but  half-way 
there  her  imagination  pictured  maids 
of  honor  seated  at  their  embroidery 
frames,  prating  of  their  own  virtues  and 
others'  foibles,  and  with  a  shrug  she 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  Laby 
rinth.  Through  the  gardens  strolled  a 
courtier,  who  held  out  to  her  a  rose  and 
turned  a  verse  upon  the  flower's  sem 
blance  to  the  color  in  her  cheeks. 

Without  a  word  she  took  his  offer 
ing  as  though  she  might  have  plucked 
it  from  a  branch,  and  walked  on  quickly 
to  the  hanging  gardens.  Once  in  the 
Labyrinth  the  Princess  seemed  to  van 
ish,  and  Laia  ran  straight  to  the  Her 
mit's  hut. 

The  Hermit  sat  at  his  table,  drawing 
upon  a  parchment ;  he  did  not  appear 
to  see  the  Princess,  who  seated  herself 
on  a  bench  beside  the  door  and  waited 
patiently.  At  last  the  Hermit  turned 
and  listened  to  the  story  of  her  useless 
life  and  her  desire  to  do  some  heroic 
deed. 

"Oh,  why,"   sighed  the   Princess,   "is 

50 


The  Cloth  of  Life 

there  nothing  given  me  to  do?  Each 
day  of  my  life  goes  mincing  by,  hand  in 
hand  with  the  triviality  of  its  oppor 
tunities.  Even  this  rose  has  had  its 
full  perfection  marred  by  the  verses  of 
that  flaxen-headed  puppet!" 

She  held  the  rose  a  moment ;  then  put 
it  in  the  stone  pitcher  of  the  Hermit. 
"Ah,  now,"  she  said,  "you  should  be 
happy,  you  rose!  for  you  are  steeped 
in  clear,  fresh  water  from  the  Forest 
spring,  while  I — "  she  broke  off  with 
another  sigh  and  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 

But  the  Hermit,  as  he  watched  her, 
smiled.  "Granting  my  power  to  give 
thee  thy  desire,  what  wouldst  thou 
have?" 

"Show  me  how  I  may  do  some  great 
and  noble  deed.  Show  me  how  I  may 
be  given  a  chance  to  write  my  name  in 
the  book  of  Life.  Set  me  a  task  that 
I  may  quickly  do!  I  care  not  how 
severe  the  test." 

"The  moment  is  not  come.  There  is 
no  Giant's  task  thrown  down  upon  a 
given  part  of  earth,  for  thee  to  do. 
Yet  there  is  much  that  thou  canst  every 
hour  accomplish:  In  the  many  little 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

threads  thou  weavest  in  thy  daily  life, 
each  very  small  alone,  but  slowly  adding 
to  all  that  have  gone  before,  thread  by 
thread  thou  mayest  weave  a  tapestry." 

"Alas!  I  fear  that  when  the  Fates 
wove  my  life's  beginning,  they  made  an 
empty  loom!" 

The  Hermit,  drawing  his  hood  far 
over  his  face,  stood  pondering.  "Come," 
he  said  at  last,  "look  into  my  fire!" 

The  Princess  lay  down  upon  a  skin 
spread  upon  the  earthen  floor,  and 
looked  as  she  was  told  into  the  flame 
which  burned,  first  yellow,  then  red, 
then  white:  at  last  a  grey  vapor 
seemed  to  rise  and  fill  the  chamber  and 
then  all  at  once  the  Princess  found  her 
self  in  an  enormous  hall. 

All  along  the  sides  were  transparent 
cases  in  which  were  hung  pieces  of  cloth 
of  different  shapes  and  sizes;  some 
of  them  beautifully  embroidered  with 
threads  of  gold,  while  some  were  mere 
handfuls  of  worthless  rags  that  might 
have  been  gathered  from  a  waste  heap. 

Down  the  center  of  the  hall  stood 
many  looms,  and  before  them,  each 
weaving  in  her  own  apportioned  hour, 
sat  radiant  beings  clothed  in  white,  and 

52 


The  Cloth  of  Life 

upon  their  heads  were  stars,  whose  ef 
fulgence  filled  the  hall  with  light.  Be 
side  each  loom  hung  shears  of  Destiny, 
each  guarded  by  a  sign  of  the  Zodiac. 
In  the  midst  was  the  Angel  of  Life, 
writing. 

The  Princess  gazed  at  all  within  the 
hall,  and  then  out  through  the  great 
window  at  the  end  where  she  saw  the 
Heavens  very  near  and  many  other 
stars  upon  the  blue  path,  and,  as  she 
gazed,  there  entered  a  guardian  angel 
with  a  baby  in  his  arms.  He  approached 
the  star-being  then  working  at  her  loom, 
who  took  the  shears  from  beside  the 
sign  of  the  Zodiac,  standing  near,  and 
cut  out  all  the  cloth  that  she  had  made. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened:  no 
sooner  was  the  cloth  severed  from  the 
loom  in  which  it  had  been  spun  than 
it  appeared  hung  up  in  an  almost  empty 
case  near  the  Princess;  a  small  piece  of 
grey  cloth  cut  into  an  exact  square. 

Meanwhile  the  Angel  of  Life  wrote 
in  his  great  book  and  then  said  to  the 
guardian  angel,  "To  the  home  of  Mijj 
the  Cobbler." 

A  moment  later  another  guardian  an 
gel  entered  with  a  baby,  but  the  star 

53 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

then  weaving  had  her  loom  nearly  full, 
and  of  cloth  of  gold. 

"To  the  home  of  the  Grand  Duke 
Tares!"  the  Angel  said,  and  then  he 
answered  the  thoughts  of  the  Princess: 

"Each  life  as  it  is  born  on  Earth  is 
given  a  piece  of  cloth;  each  receives 
the  quantity  then  in  the  loom,  woven 
under  his  star,  and  cut  by  the  shears 
of  his  Destiny.  The  size  and  quality 
of  cloth  depend  upon  the  Fate  that  casts 
the  hour  of  his  birth;  but  the  change  in 
the  piece  of  cloth  once  it  is  in  the  case 
of  development  depends  upon  the  effort 
of  the  one  to  whom  it  belongs. 

"But  now  thou  sawest  a  fragment  of 
poor  material  given  to  the  cobbler's  son, 
and  a  large  piece  of  gold  damask  to  the 
heir  of  the  Grand  Duke :  yet  when  they 
shall  be  taken  out  of  these  cases  to 
be  distributed  in  the  greater  halls,  of 
what  mortals  call  Death,  the  grey  piece 
may  be  so  richly  wrought  as  to  become 
part  of  the  Tapestry  of  the  Universe, 
and  the  cloth  of  gold  so  ruthlessly  cut 
and  gashed,  with  one  pattern  tried  and 
then  another,  that  it  is  fit  for  nought  in 
the  end  but  the  waste  heap  of  ruined 
lives." 

54 


The  Cloth  of  Life 

"And  my  piece!"  cried  the  Princess. 
"What  am  I  doing  with  mine?" 

But  the  Angel  answered  not — and  as 
she  asked  again,  the  hall  vanished  and 
the  Princess  awoke  in  the  Hermit's  hut. 

But  somewhere  far  away  she  seemed 
still  to  hear  the  Angel's  voice : 

"Every  minute  spent  in  doing  the 
thing  which  is  thy  work  to  do,  every 
minute  spent  in  leading  gladly  thy 
daily  life,  embroiders  in  gold  thy  piece 
of  cloth;  every  brooding  discontent 
makes  a  tangled  thread,  every  wish  to 
shape  thy  life  into  one  that  is  not  thine 
own  makes  a  wasteful  tear." 

The  Princess  looked  slowly  from  the 
fire  to  the  eyes  of  the  Hermit,  hardly 
knowing  whether  the  Hermit,  the  An 
gel,  or  her  own  heart  had  spoken. 

The  Princess  sighed,  then  smiled,  and 
then  went  singing  through  the  Laby 
rinth. 

The  Hermit  stood  in  the  doorway  of 
his  hut;  watching  the  river  as  it  flowed 
serenely  by,  and  his  eyes  were  like  the 
eyes  of  the  Angel  of  Life. 


55 


TWO  POETS 


VI 
TWO  POETS 

AMONG  the  many  boys  who  had 
been  pupils  in  the  Monastery, 
were  two  that  Kahras,  the  sage,  re 
membered  longer  than  all  the  rest. 
One  of  these  boys  was  named  Arjis  and 
the  other,  Tiv.  Few  scholars  had  ever 
made  such  faultless  copies  of  the  sacred 
books;  none  had  ever  shown  such  un 
derstanding  of  the  thoughts  inscribed, 
and  Kahras  hung  great  hope  upon  the 
future  of  these  two:  he  expected  much 
of  Arjis,  but  he  was  sure  that  Tiv  would 
go  far  indeed. 

As  for  the  boys  themselves,  each  had 
it  in  his  heart  to  be  a  great  poet;  each 
thought  of  the  helpful  and  inspiring 
messages  he  would  write,  and  each  saw 
in  his  imagination  future  pupils  copy 
ing  on  parchment  his  teachings,  even  as 

59 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

he  now  was  copying  those  of  the  great 
scribes,  and  of  the  Hermit  of  the  Forest 

Both  of  these  boys  were  very  poor, 
and  as  it  happened  a  similar  blow  fell 
suddenly  upon  each.  Their  fathers  died 
leaving  a  mother  and  younger  sister  des 
titute.  To  each  the  thought  of  turning 
to  an  occupation  was  like  giving  up  life 
itself,  and  in  despair  they  went  apart 
and  sat  at  dusk  together  on  the  bank 
of  the  river  which  flowed  at  the  foot  of 
the  Monastery. 

At  last  Arjis  spoke:  "Ah,  Tiv,  I  know 
that  I  was  sent  into  the  world  to  be  a 
poet;  such  another  perchance  as  he 
whose  learning  we  have  studied  from 
the  parchment.  See  my  hands!  They 
are  not  brown  and  strong,  but  frail  and 
white;  my  shoulders  are  not  broad,  but 
narrow  and  such  as  bend  most  easily 
over  the  tablets.  Of  what  use  might 
such  as  I  be  in  the  world  of  men  ?  Look 
also,  Tiv,  upon  the  deeper  side :  what  is 
one  life  or  one  family  compared  with 
the  endurance  of  a  mind  whose  wisdom 
shall  be  handed  down  from  generation 
to  generation?  To  force  me  into  any 
other  tasks  than  those  for  which  I  am 
by  nature  fitted,  would  be  compelling  a 
60 


Two  Poets 

fish  to  live  on  land— all  my  gifts  would 
be  wasted." 

"Alas,  Arjis,  I  too  feel  as  thou  dost, 
and  I  see  no  future  standing  with  her 
arms  outstretched  to  me,  save  that  one 
which  thou  and  I  had  always  thought 
we  were  approaching  hand  in  hand — but 
the  Mother !  and  little  Kaia,  whose  baby 
lips  have  lisped  her  brother's  name 
scarce  two  short  summers — I  cannot  see 
them  starve." 

"How  thinkest  thou  to  prevent  their 
starving,  if  thou  wilt  abandon  those 
gifts  which  the  Gods  have  given  thee? 
Develop  that  which  is  best  in  thee;  thou 
wilt  find  that  other  hands  will  toil  in 
place  of  thine " 

"Forbear,  Arjis!  I  go  at  dawn  into 
the  City!" 

"And  what  thinkest  thou  to  do  when 
thou  hast  reached  its  dire  midst?" 

"I  know  not  yet ;  but  I  must  find  what 
work  I  may.  Through  this  last  night 
I  will  remain  upon  this  bank  above  the 
river  that  I  love,  and  dream  my  last 
dreams  in  the  shadow  of  these  walls  I 
had  hoped  might  shelter  me  for  many 
years.  In  the  dawn  of  the  coming  day 
I  go.  If  the  poet  in  me  is  dead  to-night, 
61 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

at  least  there  has  been  born  a  son. 
Some  day  I  may  return  to  the  life  for 
which  my  soul  longs,  but  now  I  must 
go  to  the  Mother  and  little  Kaia." 

Many  years  later  in  the  City  lived  two 
men :  one  the  great  Arjis  of  whom  all  the 
world  has  heard;  whose  poems  have 
been  sung  by  men  working  in  the  fields, 
by  mothers  with  their  children  in  their 
arms.  Poems  in  which  he  has  told  of 
a  beautiful  life  of  right  doing,  appealing 
so  strongly  to  the  hearts  of  the  people 
that  they  honored  him  as  only  second 
to  the  Hermit.  And  the  City  appointed 
a  special  day  to  decorate  the  tomb  of  his 
mother  and  sister  who  so  pitifully  had 
died  while  the  poet  was  still  a  boy,  too 
young  to  earn  the  means  of  their  sup 
port.  The  other,  Tiv,  a  laborer,  lived  in  a 
little  cottage  on  the  outskirts  of  the  City, 
a  clean,  well-kept  abode  surrounded  by 
the  flowers  of  its  little  garden;  and 
within  there  dwelt  a  contented  woman. 

One  day  the  woman  said,  "My  son, 
when  thou  wert  young,  thou  wert  ever 
dreaming  with  thy  pen,  and  when  I 
asked  thee  what  the  characters  might 
mean,  thou  didst  read  to  me  most  beau- 
62 


Two  Poets 

tiful  things.  Why  dost  thou  never  write 
such  thoughts  now  that  thou  art  a  man  ?" 

Tiv  stroked  her  hair  that  she  might 
not  see  his  eyes.  "Thou  art  happy, 
Mother,  art  thou  not?  Thou  hast 
known  no  want,  neither  thou  nor  Kaia, 
hast  thou?" 

"Ah  no,  my  son,  not  even  from  the 
first;  and  now  we  have  all  our  hearts 
desire,  except  to  see  thy  face  all  radi 
ant  as  it  was  wont  to  be,  when  thou 
didst  repeat  thy  poems  to  me.  Why, 
Tiv,  dost  thou  not  make  poems  any 
more?  Thou  mightst  become  a  poet, 

even  as  Arjis I  would  not  dare  to 

say  so  great  as  he ;  yet  still  a  poet !" 

But  Tiv  kissed  his  mother's  silver 
hair  and  smiled,  a  thing  that  was  rare 
with  him.  "Perhaps  I  am  a  poet, 
Mother,  who  knows!  May  not  he  be 
a  poet  whose  poems  have  been  lived  in 
stead  of  written?  Far  up  in  the  Heav 
ens  the  Angel  of  Life  may  be  writing 
the  great  poem  for  me,  and  its  theme 
thy  happiness !" 

And  all  at  once  his  Mother  clasped 
him  in  her  arms — she  knew  not  why,  ex 
cept  that  she  felt  something  which  she 
could  not  understand. 

63 


THE.  PRINCESS  AND  THE. 
JESTER 


VII 
THE.  PRINCESS  AND  THE  JESTER 

THE  noon  sun,  spreading  his 
drowsy  warmth  through  the  trel 
lis-work  of  leaves  which  canopied  the 
atrium  of  the  palace,  and  the  water 
softly  plashing  in  the  fountain,  had  put 
the  King  to  sleep. 

At  some  distance  Torqueo,  the  Jester, 
was  pouring  milk  into  a  dish  from 
which  a  puppy  had  begun  to  lap.  The 
Princess,  removing  her  arm  from 
about  the  neck  of  her  sleeping  father, 
crossed  softly  to  Torqueo  and  the 
puppy.  She  sat  upon  the  further  edge 
of  the  fountain,  watching  the  little 
hound,  who,  having  finished  his  milk, 
straightway  went  to  sleep.  Idly  she 
dipped  her  hand  into  the  water;  where 
upon  the  goldfish  scattered  like  streaks 
of  light. 

"Foolish    things!"    she    smiled— "yet 

67 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

they  are  not  the  only  creatures  that 
start  away  in  fear  at  shadows,  eh, 
Torqueo?" 

Torqueo's  eyes  and  bells  danced  like 
the  flutter  of  butterflies'  wings  as  he 
babbled,  "A  thing  is  fearful  in  the  eyes 
of  those  that  do  fear  it;  though  they 
that  fear  are  seldom  in  more  than  little 
fear!" 

"What  mean  all  thy  fearful  words?" 
laughed  the  Princess. 

"That  new  words  being  dear,  I  pay 
the  same  ones  over  as  often  as  I  may! 
But  here  comes  one  who  can  well  af 
ford  extravagance,  for  phrases  spring 
newborn  upon  his  lips." 

The  young  Duke  Artaras,  handsom 
est  of  the  courtiers,  entered  airily; 
laughter  died  upon  his  lips  at  the 
sight  of  his  sleeping  majesty.  He 
seated  himself  upon  a  cushion  at  the 
fountain's  base,  and  his  eyes  gazed  hun 
grily  at  the  sleeping  puppy  who,  like 
the  little  nerveless  lump  he  was,  had  let 
himself  be  picked  up  by  the  Princess 
without  so  much  as  opening  his  eyes. 
His  stubby  little  jaw  moved  up  and 
down  as  though  he  dreamed  of  lapping 
milk — but  he  knew  no  difference  be- 
68 


The  Princess  and  the  Jester 

tween  the  marble  flagging  and  a  silken 
lap.  The  royal  fingers  gently  stroking 
his  soft  little  coat  might  have  been  the 
caresses  of  his  mother — or  blowing 
leaves — he  neither  knew  nor  cared. 

The  Princess  looked  from  the  little 
beast  to  the  eyes  of  the  Duke  and  their 
expression  held  her  glance. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  searchingly? 
What  do  you  seek,  Artaras?" 

"Only  that  which  all  men  seek — which 
I  am  seeking  ever!  Taking  all  that  I 
can  make  my  own — whether  it  falls  my 
way,  or  whether  I  must  needs  pursue." 

"Its  name?" 

"Happiness !" 

The  eyes  of  the  Princess  gazed  far 
away  and  she  held  the  little  sleeping 
hound  against  her  cheek. 

"Torqueo!"  she  said,  "tell  us,  what 
is  happiness?" 

"To  have  plenty  to  eat !— that  is  what 
the  puppy  thinks !" 

"Nay,  but  what  dost  thou  think?" 

"Love — and  all  the  letters  writ  in 
capitals!  That  is  what  the  young  Ar 
taras  thinks." 

The  Princess  frowned.  "I  ask  thee, 
Fool,  what  is  happiness?" 

69 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

"And  thy  Fool  has  answered  twice, 
and  summed  the  happiness  of  two! 
Third  then,  the  Princess  thinks  to  find 
it  in  philosophy!"  His  shoulders  shook 
with  mirth. 

The  Princess  looked  wistfully  into  his 
merry  face.  "Aye,  but  tell  me  what  is 
thine  own !" 

"The  same  as  the  Hermit's." 

"That  is  the  drollest  jest  thou  hast 
ever  made." 

"In  truth  it  is;  for  it  is  no  jest  at 
all !" 

Artaras  cast  upon  the  Princess  a 
laughing  glance,  but  behind  the  Jester's 
mask  the  Princess  searched  for  other 
thoughts. 

"Explain,  Torqueo,  wherein  the  hap 
piness  of  the  Hermit  and  the  Fool  re 
semble,  for  surely  wisdom  and  folly  are 
opposites !" 

The  Jester  laid  his  bauble  against  his 
nose  as  he  wagged  his  head.  "All  of 
humanity  goes  skipping  by  like  tight 
rope  dancers,  with  the  cord  on  which 
they  prance  likely  to  be  cut  at  any  mo 
ment.  At  one  pole  (in  the  shade,  if  you 
will)  sits  the  Hermit,  and  at  the  other 
pole,  diverting  the  crowd,  sits  the  Fool ! 

70 


The  Princess  and  the  Jester 

All  of  humanity  which  loves,  hates,  suc 
ceeds  or  is  cast  down,  includes  neither 
fools  nor  hermits.  There  is  but  one 
difference  between  the  sage  and  the 
fool — "  Torqueo  took  an  apple  out 
of  his  pocket  and  continued  between 
bites — "one  feeds  his  soul  that  he  may 
exist  in  the  next  world— the  other  feeds 
his  stomach  that  he  may  exist  in  this! 
So,  since  the  two  extremes  are  but  mat 
ters  of  feeding,  put  the  world  at  table 
and  you  have  the  philosophy  of  happi 
ness  in  a  nutshell." 

The  Duke  laughed.  "How  may  that 
be,  Fool?  Come  to  the  pith  of  thy  sub 
ject,  if  it  have  any!" 

"Listen,  it  is  a  tale  as  profound  as  the 
Fool's  wisdom:  Draw  then  a  banquet 
table.  Upon  one  side  there  is  a  puppy, 
upon  the  next  a  child,  at  the  third  a 
youth,  and  upon  the  fourth  a  sage — 
or  a  Fool,  whichever  it  may  please 
you !" 

"Nay,  then,  we  will  have  it  a  Fool, 
since  none  but  a  Fool  would  suppose 
such  a  table's  company." 

"Well  spoken  for  a  Duke !  The  Fool 
will  leave  thee  his  bells  when  he  jour 
neys  further." 

71 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

"Peace,  Torqueo,  and  on  with  thy 
tale !" 

"It  would  have  been  despatched  ere 
now  if  thou  hadst  but  let  me  continue 
the  discourse!  In  the  center  of  the 
table  is  a  crystal  bowl  containing  that 
which  seems  to  each  the  very  food  which 
he  most  hungers  for.  Now  mark  how 
each  receives  his  share: 

"A  portion  is  given  to  the  puppy,  who 
laps  his  down  with  shortest  speed;  then, 
puppylike,  he  goes  to  sleep,  and  it  might 
as  well  have  never  been,  because  there  is 
no  memory. 

"The  child  fastens  his  eyes  on  the 
bowl,  hardly  knowing  the  taste  of  what 
he  eats,  so  intent  is  he  on  emptying  his 
dish  as  fast  as  possible  in  order  to  have 
a  second  portion.  When  he  is  told 
that  he  has  had  his  share  he  fills  the 
air  with  lamentation.  Yet  he  knows 
(which  the  puppy  did  not)  that  there 
was  something  he  wanted,  struggled  for, 
and  failed  to  get." 

The  gaze  of  the  young  Artaras  hung 
upon  the  face  of  the  Princess,  but  she 
was  hanging  upon  the  words  of  the 
Jester  as  though  they  were  words  of 
the  Hermit's  wisdom. 

72 


The  Princess  and  the  Jester 

"Third  there  is  the  youth,  old  enough 
to  help  himself.  He  wants  more  than 
he  takes,  but  he  has  been  running  into 
the  Forest,  seeking  wisdom,  so  he  eats 
lingeringly,  enjoying  his  mouthfuls,  and 
trying  not  to  long  for  more.  Then  the 
fourth,  the  sage,  takes  no  thought  of 
the  crystal  bowl,  not  because  he  ignores 
it,  but  because  there  are  so  many 
reasons  for  not  asking  for  the  whole 
dish,  so  many  reasons  for  not  wanting 
the  whole  dish;  that  it  is  choice  and  not 
control  that  makes  him  perfectly  satisfied 
with  his  saucerful — or  his  apple!" 

The  Princess  looked  narrowly  at  the 
Jester.  "I  might  almost  think  that 
thou  hadst  been  a  sage  before  thou 
wert  a  Fool!  Take  care  thou  return 
not  suddenly  to  sage  again,  for  see ! 
there  is  one  already  coveting  thy  hon 
ors."  She  pointed,  laughing,  to  the 
puppy  who  had  seized  the  Jester's  bau 
ble  and  was  shaking  it  with  all  his 
might. 

Just  then  the  King  awoke,  and  the 
Princess  hastened  to  him ;  but  the  hand 
some  Artaras,  with  his  gaze  still  fixed 
upon  the  Princess,  sat  upon  the  foun 
tain's  rim,  frightening  the  fishes. 

73 


ON  THE  BEACHES 


VIII 
ON  THE  BEACHES 

THE  heat  of  the  salt,  baked  sand 
and  the  cool  spray  of  the  Sea  swept 
over  the  Beaches.  In  the  harbor,  boats 
swung  pliantly  at  their  anchor  ropes, 
children  waded  in  the  shallow  water, 
sailing  their  toy  crafts,  or  thrusting  at 
minnows  with  little  spears  of  fish  bone. 
In  front  of  the  fishermen's  huts  women 
mended  nets,  singing  the  while  a  song 
like  the  ceaseless  waves  on  the  Beaches. 
The  Forest-woman's  hut  stood  among 
the  others,  but  to  her  it  might  have  been 
leagues  apart,  so  far  were  her  thoughts 
from  the  sands  slipping  under  the  water. 
She  loved  her  fisher  husband,  whose 
bronzed  face  and  brawny  strength  had 
won  her  heart  and  taken  her  from  the 
woodland  to  dwell  upon  the  Beaches; 
but  the  restless  beating  of  the  Sea,  the 
white  glare  of  the  unbroken  sands 

77 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

seemed  desolation  to  her  senses  and  she 
longed  for  the  green  stillness  of  the 
Forest.  Her  soul  was  filled  with  terror 
of  the  waves  as  they  dashed  the  boats 
in  broken  fragments  upon  the  shore, 
and  she  wondered  that  the  fisherwomen 
could  sing,  knowing  that  their  husbands 
were  out  upon  the  deep,  but  the  women 
smiled  and  said  to  her: 

"Canst  thou  ever  love  aught  as  thou 
lovest  the  Sea  that  sends  food  and  shel 
ter  for  us  and  our  little  ones?" 

But  the  Forest-woman,  with  fright 
ened  eyes,  cried: 

"I  love  him  not!  He  fills  my  heart 
with  dread!" 

The  women  of  the  Beaches  could  not 
understand  and  answered,  "If  there 
were  no  danger  how  couldst  thou  be 
filled  with  gladness  at  thy  good  man's 
safe  return?  We  all  have  husbands; 
fathers,  sons,  and  brothers  too,  out  upon 
the  broad  breast  of  the  Sea.  Some  he 
has  given  back  to  us  after  he  has  kissed 
their  souls  away  with  his  cold  breath; 
but  others  he  has  kept  in  his  heart  for 
ever." 

The  Forest-woman,  separated  by  this 
gulf,  heard  their  words  with  awe  and 

78 


On  the  Beaches 

marvelled  that  these  women  could  look 
with  calmness  at  the  great,  dark  Sea 
who  possessed  their  dear  ones. 

The  wind  blew  strong  as  the  Forest- 
woman  stood  beside  her  husband  in  the 
harbor.  She  looked  into  his  tender  eyes, 
which  asked  what  troubled  hers,  and 
with  madly  beating  heart,  she  answered : 

"I  only  fear  to  see  thee  go  in  such  a 
wind,  for  every  time  thy  tiny  sail  dips 
behind  the  rolling  breakers  I  all  but 
swoon  with  fear  lest  the  waves  toss  it 
above,  no  more  to  flutter  like  a  reassur 
ing  flag  before  my  gaze." 

The  fisher-husband  held  her  in  his 
arms  and  smiled,  and  answered  as  did 
the  women  of  the  Beaches : 

"Why  should  we  be  given  hope,  be 
loved,  if  we  knew  no  fear?  Why 
wouldst  thou  stand  far  out  upon  the 
dunes  watching  for  the  first  sight  of 
my  sail?  How  could  our  meeting  give 
such  joy  if  thou  didst  not  feel  that  the 
great  Sea  gave  me  always  again  and 
again  to  thine  arms?"  He  held  her 
closer  yet  until  at  last  her  lips  smiled 
bravely,  as  she  whispered,  "Then  each 
day  that  I  have  thee  shall  seem  to  me 
a  life,  and  all  the  lives  that  we  have 

79 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

lived  together  shall  make  a  hoard  of 
memories  to  fill  my  heart  in  the  days 
when  I  have  thee  not." 

The  boats  went  out  into  the  wind  with 
their  bright  sails  bending  full,  like  great 
gulls'  wings,  and  the  Forest-woman 
stood  upon  the  farthest  point  of  sand 
answering  her  husband's  smile,  until  dis 
tance  blurred  him  from  her  sight. 

All  through  the  black  night  the  storm 
raged  fiercely,  the  sea  rose  high  with 
white-whipped  waves.  In  the  fisher 
huts  the  dim  lamps  burned  flickering 
and  yellow,  and  the  Forest- woman's 
lamp  burned  with  all  the  rest.  And  in 
the  early  morning  when  the  Sea,  like  an 
avenging  god  appeased,  laid  the  dead 
upon  the  Beaches,  the  Forest- woman's 
head,  with  closed  eyes,  was  pillowed  on 
the  warm  breast  of  a  fisher-woman,  for 
the  Sea  had  kept  both  husbands  in  his 
heart. 

When  rapid  sharp  black  days  had 
been  followed  by  endless  dull  grey  ones, 
the  Forest-woman  gathered  the  frayed 
strands  of  her  life  together,  but  the  Sea 
which  had  been  her  dread  now  became 
the  solace  of  her  soul.  She  dwelt 
among  her  sisters  of  the  Beaches,  and 
80 


On  the  Beaches 

longed  no  more  for  her  Forest  home. 
In  her  eyes  was  the  same  look  that  was 
in  the  eyes  of  the  fisher-women,  looking 
out  upon  the  water,  and  she  too  mended 
nets  and  sang  the  song  of  the  Sea. 

And  in  storms  the  great  Sea  pound 
ing  on  the  Beaches  seemed  to  challenge : 

"Courage !  Courage !  Strong  as  I 
am  was  his  love  for  thee.  When  thou 
art  brave  as  my  strength,  thou  shalt 
achieve  and  go  to  him  again !"  When 
the  Sea  was  calm  he  seemed  to  whisper 
ever  and  again :  "Clear  and  true  like  the 
moon's  white  rays  lighting  the  black 
ness  of  my  surface,  are  the  memories 
lighting  thy  soul.  Only  those  whose 
memories,  like  empty  wells,  mirror  back 
no  radiant  recollections,  dwell  in  dark 
ness  like  a  moonless  night.  Patience,  I 
sing  to  thee — Peace!" 


81 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MYSTIC 


IX 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  MYSTIC 

THE  Princess  sat  before  the  Her 
mit's  hut,  her  mind  intent  upon 
the  immeasurable  distance  between  the 
Hermit  and  his  fellow-men. 

She  wondered  if  he  had  known  no 
childhood ;  if  in  his  youth  he  had  been 
a  sage?  Had  his  pulses  never  stirred 
as  those  of  other  men — though  the  heart 
of  woman  must  have  been  drawn  to  him, 
as  weakness  is  ever  drawn  to  strength. 
The  more  the  Princess  gained  in 
knowledge,  the  more  she  realized  that 
the  deepest  effort  of  her  understanding 
did  not  sound  the  depth  where  his  light 
est  thought  began. 

"Master,"  said  the  Princess,  "shall  I 
ever  see  Truth  even  from  afar?" 

The  Hermit's  voice  was  infinitely  kind 
as  he  answered,  "All  things  are  possible, 
Laia,  but  hast  thou  weighed  the  sacri 
fice  such  knowledge  costs?  Wouldst 

85 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

thou  renounce  all  in  this  beautiful 
world  save  that  which  might  serve  as  a 
means  for  the  attainment  of  deeper 
wisdom  ?" 

The  Princess  assented  eagerly,  but  the 
Hermit  shook  his  head.  "Listen,  my 
child,  and  I  will  tell  thee  the  story  of 
one  who  sought  Truth: 

"In  a  far  distant  land,  in  a  time  long 
ago,  there  lived  a  man  whose  name  was 
Rab — but  no  one  called  him  by  name; 
he  was  known  as  the  Man. 

"From  the  time  of  his  youth  he  sat 
apart  upon  the  high  hills  holding  his 
spirit  out  to  God — asking  God  to  take 
it  as  His  own.  The  men  at  the  ploughs 
below  thought  him  but  part  of  a  felled 
tree  whose  shadow  might  be  seen  from 
the  fields,  but  the  women  said,  'It  is  a 
man!'  and  they  wondered  what  he  did. 

"Alone  upon  the  hill  sat  the  Man 
waiting.  One  day  as  he  held  his  soul 
in  outstretched  offering,  he  heard  the 
whispering  of  the  Great  Spirit  which 
said:  'Man,  go  down  into  the  valley 
and  toil;  for  thy  spirit  in  its  untried 
emptiness  is  not  acceptable  to  me.' 

"So  the  Man  obeyed;  and  his  fellow- 
toilers  said,  'He  is  a  good  neighbor,  for 
86 


The  Story  of  the  Mystic 

he  works  faithfully  and  harder  than  we 
do.'  But  the  women  said,  'He  works 
harder,  but  he  works  not  as  we  do/ 
And  they  cast  furtive  glances  toward 
the  hill-top,  where  at  dusk  they  thought 
the  shadow  was  not  that  of  the  tree 
trunk. 

"As  the  years  went  by  the  Man  accu 
mulated  the  fruits  of  his  labors.  Fel 
low-toilers  in  the  valley  showed  him 
kindness  and  he  was  welcomed  at  their 
firesides,  where  rosy  -  faced  children 
climbed  upon  his  knee.  Sometimes  in 
the  twilight  hours,  before  the  glowing 
logs,  some  maid  more  fair  than  all  the 
rest  sat  with  him  apart — and  looked 
with  wistful  eyes.  At  such  times  into  his 
heart  would  come  the  vivid  knowledge 
that  he  was  a  man,  and  he  longed  to 
take  the  maiden  in  his  arms,  wishing 
that  he  too  might  build  his  fireside.  But 
the  rushing  of  the  wind  outside  brought 
to  his  spirit  the  call  of  God !  Out  into 
the  night  and  storm  he  fled  to  the  hill 
top,  where  in  a  hollow  tree  he  had  built 
his  shrine. 

"One  night  when  the  dwellers  in  the 
valley  were  asleep  and  the  Man  waited 
alone,  he  heard  the  Great  Spirit's  voice: 

8? 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

*He  who  serves  ME  must  be  entirely 
MINE,  and  he  must  sacrifice  to  ME  all 
he  has!'  The  Man  followed  the  voice 
far  beyond  the  hills  up  to  the  mountain's 
summit:  and  there  above  the  gathered 
storm  clouds,  high  upon  a  smooth  pla 
teau  bare  and  bleak,  unreached  save  by 
wind  and  moon  and  stars;  in  the  midst 
of  this  vast  space,  stood  the  Man  with 
his  arms  outstretched ! 

"Then  out  of  the  swirling  wind  ap 
peared  the  Great  Spirit  and  the  Man 
iell  upon  his  face.  But  the  Great 
Spirit  spoke: 

"  'Lift  up  thy  head  and  I  will  breathe 
into  thine  eyes,  thy  heart,  thy  mind. 
To  thee  will  I  give  a  part  of  ME,  but 
from  thee  will  I  take  all  that  thou  hast. 
Outwardly  thou  shalt  be  as  before — a 
man;  but  through  thine  eyes  there  will 
shine  glimpses  of  ME.  Women  will 
love  ME,  thinking  it  is  thee;  for  they, 
knowing  only  man,  will  love  thee  as  a 
man,  but  thou  with  MY  SPIRIT  in 
thy  heart  wilt  baffle  and  bewilder  their 
souls.' 

"The  Man  toiled  with  the  men  in  the 
valley  and  they  honored  him  as  a  fellow 
88 


The  Story  of  the  Mystic 

worker;  but  the  women  glanced  with 
wondering  eyes  at  twilight  toward  the 
hill-top  and  holding  their  children  close 
in  their  arms  went  home  to  their  fire 
sides." 


THE  POET  AND  THE 
PRINCESS 


THE  POET  AND  THE  PRINCESS 

TN  the  very  midst  of  the  City,  where 
•*  the  grey-walled  buildings  lay  close 
like  the  cells  in  the  hives  of  the  bees; 
and  where  the  human  workers  swarmed 
in  a  busy  throng,  stood  the  dwelling  of 
Adas,  the  physician.  With  him  lived 
his  son  Avar,  the  young  poet.  From  his 
earliest  childhood  care  had  thrown  her 
veil  about  him,  and  worries  crowded  on 
his  mind. 

To  him  his  father's  daily  chronicles: 
that  the  child  of  the  weaver  died  in  the 
night,  that  a  coach  and  four  ran  over 
an  aged  crone  too  deaf  to  hear  the  pound 
of  the  horses'  feet— these  things  filled 
the  boy's  heart  with  grief,  for  as  his 
father  told  him  only  the  sad  tales  of 
life,  Avar  thought  all  the  houses  in  the 
City  but  screens  to  hide  the  sufferings 
of  their  inmates.  The  smoke  curling 

93 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

upwards  from  the  chimneys  seemed  to 
him  the  grey  vapor  of  dying  souls;  the 
setting  sun  reflected  in  crimson  glow  on 
the  window  glass,  was  to  him  the  em 
blem  of  burning  pain;  the  rain  that 
cooled  the  sultry  City,  was  to  him  the 
weeping  of  Nature  over  the  fever- 
stricken  land.  And  so  his  poems  were 
always  in  a  tragic  vein. 

At  last  this  brooding  spirit  overtaxed 
the  frail  strength  of  his  body,  and  his 
father,  seeing  in  him  the  likeness  of  a 
sun-starved  plant,  tried  the  expedient 
of  sending  him,  for  a  while,  beyond  the 
Forest  into  the  quiet  Village  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Gardens  of  the  King. 

Here,  in  the  sunshine,  living  in  a  low 
thatched  cottage  on  the  river's  brink, 
across  which  the  Gardens  of  the  King 
were  spread  in  marvellous  beauty,  the 
young  poet's  imagination  rebounded. 
As  in  the  City  all  seemed  steeped  in  the 
grey  fog  of  never-lifting  care,  so  all 
here  seemed  radiant  in  the  golden  glow 
of  never-fading  happiness. 

He  would  lie  for  hours  on  the  bank  of 
the  silver  sanded  river,  gazing  across  to 
the  farther  shore  where  the  Palace  stood 
at  the  crest  of  its  Gardens,  and  with 

94 


The  Poet  and  the  Princess 

eager  eyes  scan  the  nearby  paths  hop 
ing  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Princess.  The 
smoke  floating  like  soft  clouds  from  the 
marble  chimneys,  the  setting  sun  gilding 
the  window  panes,  seemed  to  him  the 
joy  of  life  condensed.  And  he  wrote 
paeans  of  glory,  victory,  and  delight,  in 
which  the  Princess  was  ever  portrayed 
clad  in  dazzling  gold  and  crowned  with 
stars;  her  hair  he  fancied  like  a  mantle 
made  of  sunset  rays  floating  in  the  even 
ing  breeze,  her  eyes  like  the  deep  blue  of 
the  sky,  her  lips  the  scarlet  streak  of  the 
setting  sun. 

Thus  he  stayed  dreaming  the  days 
away  until  strength  and  health  returned. 

When  again  in  his  father's  house  he 
tried  to  forget  the  greyness  of  his  sur 
roundings  by  dwelling  upon  the  memory 
of  the  Gardens  of  the  King  where  the 
sun  always  glistened,  where  sorrow  was 
unknown,  and  where  lived  that  most 
wondrous  being,  the  Princess.  If  only 
he  might  have  seen  the  Princess,  he 
thought,  then  he  would  have  had  a 
memory  to  leaven  the  sadness  of  the 
whole  world.  Yet  in  all  the  time  he 
lived  in  the  Village,  Avar  never  saw  the 
Princess. 

95 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

One  day  as  he  was  sitting  in  the  por 
tico  of  his  father's  house,  planning  a  new 
tragedy  of  which  the  stage  was  to  be 
the  street  before  him,  and  the  Palace  an 
ideal  Heaven,  a  messenger  of  the  King 
appeared  before  him,  bearing  an  order 
from  Adas  to  his  son  which  directed 
that  he  bring  a  packet  of  certain  herbs 
to  the  Palace  without  delay. 

That  illness  could  enter  the  Palace 
stunned  the  young  poet's  sensibilities; 
sooner  could  he  have  believed  in  the 
suffering  of  angels,  and  later  as  he  gave 
the  password  to  the  soldiers  who  would 
else  have  barred  his  entrance,  he  found 
it  difficult  to  believe  this  could  be  that 
very  Palace  whose  other  face  he  loved 
so  well.  He  was  led  through  court 
yards,  long  passages  and  vaulted  cham 
bers,  until  his  father  met  him,  and  lead 
ing  him  through  a  narrow  gallery,  left 
the  boy  amazed  to  find  that  he  was 
standing  upon  the  highest  terrace  of  the 
Gardens  of  the  King,  close  to  the  gleam 
ing  walls  of  the  castle  of  his  dreams! 
Drawing  his  breath  in  awe,  he  looked 
up  at  the  white  walls  rising  above  him, 
and  stood  aghast,  his  heart  rent  with  dis 
appointment  because  the  marble  did  not 
96 


The  Poet  and  the  Princess 

gleam  and  the  surface  was  but  like  that 
of  many  buildings  in  the  City.  He  felt 
the  wind  damp,  the  stone  paving  hard 
and  chill,  while  all  the  glistening  colors 
were  in  the  Village  beyond  the  river 
where  the  thatched  roofs  basked  in  the 
sun. 

"If  I  might  but  see  the  Princess !"  he 
thought,  "her  radiance  would  light  up 
this  cold  mass  of  stone  and  it  would  be 
come  the  fairy  palace  it  seemed  from 
the  other  side." 

Just  then  he  heard  the  soft  tap  of 
heels  upon  the  mosaic  of  the  terrace,  and 
turning,  saw  a  slender  maid  whose  years 
might  sum  the  same  number  as  his  own. 
She  wore  a  simple  dress  of  brownish 
tone,  her  hair,  neither  dark  nor  light, 
was  bound  by  a  fillet  of  jewel-less  gold 
but  fashioned  of  a  wrought  design.  Her 
face  he  first  thought  plain,  but  no  sooner 
had  he  thought  it  plain  than  it  seemed 
beautiful;  though  he  wondered  that  a 
maid  of  honor  should  be  so  simply 
dressed. 

"Princesses,  I  thought,  had  orioles  to- 
wait  on  them,  not  wrens !"  he  said  aloud, 
and  all  at  once  the  maiden  laughed. 
And  as  she  laughed  the  boy  thought  he 

97 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

would  write  a  poem  and  call  it  "Laugh 
ter." 

"And  who  art  thou,"  she  said,  "that 
talk  of  the  Princess  and  orioles  and 
wrens  ?" 

"I  am  a  poet,  Avar  by  name;  my 
father  is  Adas,  the  physician!  Who 
may  be  thine?" 

"My  father—?"  She  drew  the  arches 
of  her  brow  together,  and  at  once  Avar 
thought  he  would  write  a  tragedy  and 
call  it  "Storm";  and  then  he  heard  her 
voice  like  the  rushing  of  the  wind 
through  his  imagery  of  the  storm : 

"My  father  is  the  King!  I  am  the 
Princess  Alaeia." 

Then  the  poor  bewildered  youth  had 
no  thought  at  all.  He  stared,  and 
stared,  but  saw  nothing  except  his  lost 
illusions  that  seemed  turning  into  little 
brown  spots  like  the  tiny  freckles  on  the 
bridge  of  the  Princess'  nose. 

But  the  Princess  could  not  read  his 
mind,  and  his  uncouthness  made  her 
angry.  "Thou  art  very  rude,  thou  son 
of  Adas,  and  altogether  different  from 
thy  father,  whom  I  dearly  love  for  the 
soothing  care  he  takes  of  me  when  I  am 
ill." 

98 


The  Poet  and  the  Princess 

"And  can  it  be  that  YOU  are  ever 
ill?"  The  question  hung  faltering  on 
Avar's  lips.  But  now  the  Princess 
stared. 

"Of  course  I  am  sometimes  ill.  The 
King,  my  father,  is  all  crippled  with  the 
gout ;  perchance  I  shall  have  it  too  some 
day.  It  is  only  you  who  have  a  father 
to  make  you  well  again  before  you  real 
ize  that  you  are  ill.  Tell  me,  do  you 
live  in  the  City?" 

"Aye.     In  its  midst." 

But  the  Princess  drew  closer,  crying, 
"Tell  me!  Tell  me  of  the  City,  where 
there  is  so  much  to  learn,  and  do! 
Where  the  toilers  go  singing  to  their 
work  like  a  busy  swarm  of  happy  bees; 
where  the  contented  smoke  of  chimneys 
tells  of  countless  happy  homes.  Ah,  I 
should  like  to  live  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  City!" 

"No!  No,  you  would  not,  Princess! 
There  it  is  all  noise,  strife,  sickness, 
death ;  while  here  all  is  peace  and  happi 
ness!" 

"Peace  and  happiness  here —  Ah,  I 
wonder  would  you  think  so  long?  Each 
day  follows  day  in  monotonous  proces 
sion,  and  laughter  is  but  a  sound  made 

99 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

with  the  lips  and  throat.  The  courtiers 
make  the  same  speeches  year  after  year ; 
even  Torqueo  but  makes  new  jokes  by 
saying  the  old  ones  backwards!  Think 
what  it  is  to  live  always  with  no  new 
face  to  see — except  on  the  great  days 
of  the  feasts;  and  then  there  are  such 
crowds  that  no  face  stands  out  clearly 
amidst  the  throngs  that  pass  before  the 
throne's  dais,  where  I  stand  with  the 
diadem  pressing  into  the  very  flesh  of 
my  head,  and  my  shoulders  weighted  to 
the  breaking  point  with  the  jewels  they 
have  to  carry.  Perchance  you  call  that 
peace  and  happiness?  At  first  I  liked 
the  spectacle;  I  loved  to  feel  the  power 
of  the  King,  my  father,  and  my  soul 
was  filled  with  the  glory  of  being  the 
Princess  Alaeia;  but  now  it  neither 
wearies  me  overmuch,  nor  fills  my  soul 
with  pride;  it  all  comes  in  the  duties  of 
a  day — neither  more  nor  less." 

Then  suddenly  the  Princess  saw  that 
she  was  causing  pain  and  that  Avar  was 
struggling  with  some  sorrow,  even  as 
she  had  often  "struggled  with  her  own 
in  the  presence  of  the  Hermit;  and  all 
at  once  he  felt  her  sympathy  and  in 
that  moment  his  tongue  was  loosened, 
100 


The  Poet  and  the  Princess 

and  he  told  her  of  his  sadness  in  the 
City  and  his  happiness  in  gazing  on  the 
Palace  from  the  Village  side,  and  how 
always  he  had  filled  his  heart  with  the 
golden  image  of  herself. 

At  last  when  he  had  told  her  all,  she 
took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  down 
the  terraces  of  the  Gardens  so  that  the 
Castle  looked  as  it  had  done  from  the 
Village  side,  and  then  he  heard  her 
voice  and  it  sounded  as  if  veiled  with 
shadows,  like  her  eyes,  which  were  half 
hidden  under  their  dusky  lashes. 

"You  thought  the  Palace  the  Castle 
of  your  dreams — and  me,  less  mortal 
than  other  maids,  because  I  am  the 
Princess!  Alas,  you  see  your  castle 
close  at  hand  and  find  it  but  a  pile  of 
stone ;  you  see  me  close  and  do  not  even 
know  me — "  She  paused.  "Do  you  see 
the  clouds  far  over  in  the  west,  how  the 
setting  sun  tints  them  gold  and  light? 
Always  as  a  child,  and  even  now,  I  let 
my  fancy  think  them  fairy  cities,  and 
wander  down  their  magic  streets.  Yet 
though  I  know  they  are  but  the  reflec 
tion  of  the  sun  upon  dense  bodies  made 
of  mist,  what  can  it  matter  since  what 
we  think  they  are  is  so  much  more  real 
101 


eh  in  the  Tapestry 


to  us  than  what  they  really  are?  You, 
Avar,  are  a  poet,  and  poets  always  see 
the  world's  face  gladder  or  sadder  than 
it  is;  and  if  the  world  showed  the  same 
face  to  me  that  it  does  to  other  maids,  I 
would  not  be  the  Princess!  So  tell  me, 
would  you  have  me  show  you  all  the 
Gardens  and  the  Palace — have  you  know 
that  life  you  think  so  perfect —  Ah  no, 
I  will  not,  just  because  you  are  a  poet, 
I  will  not  show  you  even  those  places 
which  I  love  and  find  most  beautiful,  for 
if  you  saw  them  with  the  eyes  now  look 
ing  at  me,  they  would  be  but  rooms  of 
marble,  paths  and  flowers  and  green! 
No,  Avar,  draw  your  Palace  from  the 
creations  of  your  own  imagination — 
and  from  time  to  time  will  you  send  me 
the  poems  as  you  fashion  them?  So 
that  I  may  try  to  clothe  the  real  Palace 
and  Gardens  with  the  beauty  which  you, 
having  seen  them  only  with  your  poet's 
mind,  shall  give  to  them." 

And  as  she  spoke  the  sun  blazed  bril 
liantly  through  the  drifting  clouds,  and 
Avar  started  with  amazement;  for  the 
sun  had  made  her  hair  of  burnished 
gold,  her  dress  shone  of  the  metal  too, 
and  the  golden  disk  that  bound  her 
102 


The  Poet  and  the  Princess 

brow  gleamed  like  a  royal  crown.  Her 
eyes  were  like  the  blue  of  Heaven,  and 
her  lips  were  like  the  streak  of  sunset 
red,  and  all  at  once  she  was  the  Princess 
of  his  dreams ! 

And  so  she  led  him  back  to  the  pos 
tern  gate,  and  when  he  came  again  to  the 
City  the  world  was  full  of  Song. 


103 


THE  HERMIT'S  DISCIPLE 


XI 
THE  HERMIT'S  DI5CIPLE 

IN  the  mellow  light  when  the  sun's 
longest  shadows  were  slowly  dissolv 
ing  into  night,  the  Hermit  sat  before  his 
door  contemplating  the  river  flowing  by. 
Through  the  Forest  came  the  even-song 
of  birds,  and  the  leaves  softly  stirring  in 
the  breeze  crooned  the  Woodland  to 
sleep. 

All  at  once  a  strange  bird's  note  broke 
upon  the  increasing  stillness!  A  high 
trill  echoed  sweet  and  distant,  then  the 
notes  varied,  deepening  into  truer  mel 
ody,  until  the  aria  arose  in  rippling  ca 
dences  of  joy.  It  was  as  though  the 
soul  and  mind  of  man  had  been  put  in 
the  throat  of  some  heaven-born  bird, 
which  had  descended  into  the  Forest  to 
sing  to  the  others  just  one  time — that 
they  might  remember  always. 

The  Hermit,  walking  softly  in  the  di- 

107 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

rection  of  the  sound,  suddenly  stopped. 
A  youth  was  lying  at  full  length  upon 
the  moss,  his  bent  arm  framing  his  up 
turned  face,  while  from  his  throat  and 
puckered  lips  poured  all  the  marvellous 
melody.  Upon  the  branches  of  the 
nearest  trees  the  forest  birds  chirped 
now  a  note,  now  a  trill  in  chorus. 

The  Hermit  noted  the  lithe  and  grace 
ful  form  above  which  was  set  a  face, 
modelled  with  clean,  clear  strokes  be 
neath  tumbled  locks  of  bronze. 

The  stranger  let  the  song  die  out  with 
a  long-drawn  sigh — like  one  who,  sigh 
ing,  takes  but  a  deeper  breath — not  one 
unloading  upon  the  winds  his  care.  He 
drew  a  handful  of  berries  from  his  open 
doublet  and  his  feathered  chorus  perch 
ing  on  his  arm  and  shoulder  shared  his 
supper. 

The  crackle  of  twigs  announced  the 
Hermit's  nearer  approach,  and  the 
birds  like  flying  chaff,  blown  before 
a  storm,  scattered  into  the  trees.  But 
the  youth,  bounding  to  his  feet,  cried 
eagerly : 

"Master,  surely  thou  art  he  whom  I 
seek!" 

"If  thou  seekest  the  Hermit  of  the 
108 


The  Hermit's  Disciple 

Forest,  I  am  he ;  my  hut  is  near  and 
thou  art  welcome." 

So  together  they  went,  the  Hermit  and 
the  youth  with  the  bird  music  in  his 
throat,  and  when  they  were  seated  be 
fore  the  hut,  the  youth  began  his  story : 

"All  that  has  befallen  me,  will  I  tell 
thee,  but  my  true  name  I  beg  thou  wilt 
not  ask — unless  thine  all-knowing  vision 
shows  thee  things  I  would  a  while 
forget." 

The  Hermit  answered,  "I  know 
naught  but  that  which  thou  wouldst 
have  me  know,  until  the  time  when  of 
thine  own  accord  thou  wilt  reveal  it." 

The  youth  looked  quickly,  but  the  eyes 
under  the  brown  cowl  might  have  been 
two  forest  pools  lying  deep  in  shadow, 
in  which  no  image  was  reflected. 

"I  was  an  only  son,  pampered  from 
the  hour  of  my  birth.  My  mother  the 
gentlest  lady,  and  my  father  the  kindest 
man,  left  no  longing  of  my  childish 
heart  unsatisfied.  Through  my  boyhood 
no  great  harm  came  of  this,  for  I,  who 
loved  my  mother  much,  was  well  con 
tent  in  wanting  most  those  things  which 
she  would  have  me  want.  As  my  joy  in 
music  was  the  same  as  hers  we  used  to 

109 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

play  for  hours,  she  and  I, — all  the  things 
I  felt  and  could  not  understand,  I  put  to 
music.  So  my  boyhood  passed,  and  then 
as  I  grew  older  and  my  life  was  thrown 
with  men,  they,  too,  humored  me  be 
cause  I  was  my  father's  son.  Thus  I 
grew  to  manhood;  never  having  known 
the  slightest  opposition  to  my  will. 

"According  to  the  custom  of  my  coun 
try  my  father  planned  my  marriage  with 
the  daughter  of  one  whose  land  adjoined 
our  own,  but  ere  our  betrothal  was  ar 
ranged  that  happened  which  made  all 
thought  of  marriage,  for  the  time,  im 
possible.  There  came  into  my  life  a 
woman,  beautiful  beyond  the  bounds  of 
imagery ;  a  woman  to  make  a  man  forget 
his  soul!  When  she  looked  at  me  my 
brain  burned  scarlet.  Upon  beholding 
her  I  felt  a  blinding  mist,  yet  when  I 
saw  her  not  I  felt  no  tender  recollection, 
only  restlessness  akin  to  anger.  I  knew 
not  whether  love  or  hate  was  uppermost. 
For  in  loving  her  I  did  hate  myself ;  and 
hating  her  I  loved  myself  again. 

"My  only  solace  was  my  music,  but 
the  measures  I  played  were  filled  with 
vibrant  bounding  notes,  and  all  who 
heard  me  play  were  stricken  with  a  men- 
no 


The  Hermit's  Disciple 

tal  fever;  all  save  she— the  one  whose 
witchery  made  the  music  through  the  in 
strument  of  my  soul  held  prisoner,  un 
der  her  crimson  spell. 

"Then  came  that  abominable  day 
when,  as  I  stood  in  the  shadow  of  a 
tapestry,  I  saw  a  great  broad-shouldered 
brawny  man  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  I  saw 
her  cheeks  grow  red,  her  brilliant  eyes 
grow  soft.  In  madness  I  rushed  out  and 
would  have  strangled  both ;  but  that  this 
woman  who  possessed  my  soul  became 
transformed  with  fury  until  I  seemed 
to  see  her  eyes  grow  tawny  yellow,  her 
dress  of  gold  become  all  barred  with 
black,  and  she  a  raging  tigress.  In  that 
moment  I  little  cared  what  might  be 
fall,  and  in  my  heart  her  image  was  de 
stroyed  forever:  though  all  my  senses 
seemed  destroyed  as  well. 

"  For  many  days  I  brooded  restlessly, 
and  then  at  last  the  stillness  of  the  For 
est  drew  my  agitated  spirit  irresistibly. 
Thus  I  became  a  wanderer. 

"At  first  I  wanted  only  rest,  forgetful- 
ness  and  peace,  but  by  and  by  my  spirit 
like  the  new  spring  leaves  strengthened 
in  the  lengthening  days.  My  bed  was 
moss  under  the  covering  of  night,  my 
in 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

drink  the  water  of  the  Forest  pools,  my 
food  the  buried  nuts  I  found.  During 
all  the  time  I  lived  in  the  greening  For 
est  I  was  silent  as  the  trees  themselves. 

"At  last,  one  twilight,  there  broke  upon 
the  stillness  the  song  of  the  returning 
birds.  I  did  not  know  a  sound  could 
startle  so !  Then  as  they  sang,  the  For 
est  life  all  seemed  to  wake,  and  I  too 
felt  a  trill  arise  in  my  own  throat  as 
though  I,  with  the  others,  was  impelled 
to  sing  the  song  of  Nature — not  knowing 
why,  except  for  a  growing  gladness  that 
made  my  heart  expand  until  the  over 
flow  arose  bubbling  to  my  lips. 

"Thus  have  I  lived  the  Summer 
through,  spending  the  days  in  musing 
on  the  mysteries  of  life,  with  no  word 
spoken  save  to  one  woodsman  whom  I 
met  some  leagues  from  here.  He  told 
me  that  the  path  which  I  had  taken 
led  to  thine  abode;  and  then  I  knew 
why  destiny  had  guided  me  this  way. 
Through  nine  changes  of  the  moon 
would  I  stay  with  thee,  but  when  for  the 
tenth  time  the  moon  increases  to  the 
full,  my  father  has  my  promise  that  I 
will  return;  in  the  meanwhile  wilt  thou 
keep  me,  Master?" 
112 


The  Hermit's  Disciple 

The  Hermit  looked  deep  into  the 
youth's  clear  eyes.  "It  was  meant  to  be, 
and  as  such  I  have  no  choice  but  to  ac 
cept.  It  is  well,  Nordeus,  for  so  thou 
shalt  be  called  whilst  thou  abidest  with 
me.  Enter !" 


THE  MELTING 


XII 
THE.  MLETING 

THE  Princess  and  the  young  Duke 
Artaras  sat  in  the  embrasure  of  a 
window  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Queen. 
At  some  distance  were  groups  of  maids 
and  courtiers,  whose  laughing  chatter 
sounded  high  above  the  low  voice  of 
the  Princess. 

Artaras  held  the  different  colored 
wools  the  Princess  needed  in  the  tapes 
try  she  was  embroidering,  and  sighed  as 
though  he  sought  to  draw  her  thoughts 
from  the  picture  growing  beneath  her 
fingers.  She  bade  him  choose  a  thread 
of  azure  wool  intended  for  the  sky,  and 
as  he  cut  it  from  the  skein,  she  smiled 
into  the  young  Duke's  eyes;  for  indeed 
he  was  a  handsome  youth.  She  knew 
full  well  that  the  drawing  of  the  blue 
thread  through  her  fingers  was  like  the 

117 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

drawing  of  the  heart-strings  of  him 
who  watched,  and  yet  this  knowledge 
added  not  a  single  count  to  the  tranquil 
measure  of  her  pulses. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  grew  dark  through 
the  narrowed  opening  of  their  half-shut 
lids,  and  something  caused  a  tremor  in 
the  breath  of  the  Princess — as  a  gust  of 
wind  might  blow  over  the  surface  of  a 
pool,  leaving  its  depth  untouched. 

"Ah,  Princess,"  he  exclaimed,  "do  you 
who  have  the  power  to  sway  all  men's 
hearts  remain  yourself  untouched  by  the 
love  which  you  inspire?" 

With  a  wistful  smile  she  answered, 
"Nay,  Artaras,  the  love  which  you  desire 
fills  but  one  side  of  the  triangle,  there 
fore  it  moves  me  not.  See,  love  should 
be  like  this:"  She  drew  a  triangle 
with  the  blue  thread  in  the  corner  of 
the  canvas,  and  in  the  center  she  left  the 
unthreaded  needle  to  mark  the  middle 
point.  "The  three  sides,  body,  soul,  and 
mind,  should  be  in  love  as  equal  as  the 
three  lines  in  this  figure.  If  the  tri 
angle  were  suspended  by  the  needle 
vertically,  all  three  sides  would  balance 
— so! — the  side  falling  at  its  base  vary 
ing  at  the  slightest  breath;  or  set  in 
118 


The  Meeting 

motion,  all  three  sides  would  merge  into 
a  perfect  circle." 

"I  know  naught  of  triangles,  but  I 
know  much  of  love !  And  even  though 
you  be  of  ice,  my  love  in  time  must  melt 
your  heart." 

"Once  upon  a  time  a  youth  fell  in  love 
with  an  ice  image  which,  his  warm 
breath  having  melted,  was  the  image  no 
longer." 

"But  the  image  I  love  is  not  of  ice! 
Tell  me,  Princess,  what  must  he  be  to 
fill  your  heart?" 

"I  ask  too  much,  Artaras!  I  who 
less  than  other  maids  may  hope  to  real 
ize  my  dreams." 

"Why  say  you  less  than  others?  The 
Princess  Alaeia  may  choose  from  all 
the  men  on  earth  the  one  she  wills  to 
be  her  husband." 

"The  Princess  Alaeia  is  the  daughter 
of  the  King!  and  must  marry  him  who 
is  her  country's  choice.  The  poor 
Prince,  her  husband,  having  no  more 
choice  than  she." 

"But  should  the  King  ordain  that  you 

might  choose  a  husband  for  love  alone, 

and  that  is  not  impossible,  does  not  your 

triangle   swing  perhaps   from  a  central 

119 


W oven  in  the  Tapestry 

point  of  beauty?"  The  handsome  Duke 
threw  all  the  ardor  of  his  heart  into  his 
importunity. 

But  the  Princess  arose,  and  her  glance 
travelled  over  the  different  courtiers  and 
back  again  to  the  Duke,  whose  beauty 
far  outshone  them  all,  but  each  like  a 
goldsmith's  figure  seemed  to  show  the 
art  and  labor  spent  in  making,  surely  of 
none  of  these  had  the  Deity  said  at  birth 
"Let  this  be  a  man!" 

And  the  Princess  sighed  for  the  need 
of  this  man  and — it  may  have  been 
the  emptiness  in  her  heart  that  made 
her  smile  for  the  second  time  upon 
Artaras.  Then  she  quickly  left  the  Gal 
lery. 

Crossing  the  Gardens  of  the  King  she 
soon  stood  within  the  opening  of  the 
hollow  tree  which  hid  the  exit  of  the 
Labyrinth.  From  there  she  watched  the 
figure  of  the  Hermit,  who  was  pounding 
grain  before  his  hut. 

"Am  I  becoming  fanciful?"  she 
thought.  "Surely  the  Hermit  moves  as 
though  he  had  discovered  the  invigo 
rating  wine  of  youth." 

"Aa-lo !  lo-ho !"  she  called.  The  Her 
mit  turned,  but  the  sun  shining  upon  the 
120 


The  Meeting 

river  beyond  blurred  the  features  under 
the  canopy  of  his  hood,  and  the  Princess 
could  not  see  whether  he  smiled  or 
frowned,  as  she  continued  gaily,  "Some 
good  thing  has  surely  happened!  Mas 
ter,  hast  thou  built  a  new  temple  on  the 
'Way'?  Or  hast  thou  found  the  herb 
that  will  allay  man's  pain?  Or  hast  thou 
found  a  balm  to  cure  the  blindness  of 
those  who  will  not  see?  Truly  thou 
seemest  grown  in  stature  and  thou — !" 
She  had  come  close  enough  to  have  the 
blurred  haze  outside  of  her  line  of  vis 
ion,  and  had  stopped;  staring  with 
amazement  into  the  face  beneath  the 
Hermit's  hood.  Instead  of  the  parch 
ment  features  of  the  sage,  she  saw 
smooth  modelling  of  noble  sculpture,  in 
stead  of  the  lines  and  hollows  she  knew 
so  well,  the  fresh  firm  skin  of  youth. 
Who  was  he?  Some  recollection,  dim 
and  mysterious,  thrilled  her  senses;  her 
heart  throbbed  as  though  some  potent 
spell  held  her  enchained — and  held  the 
stranger  too;  for  neither  moved,  but 
each  stood  gazing  into  the  other's  eyes  as 
though  lost  in  the  memory  of  previous 
births. 
Then  the  memory  faded  and  the  Prin- 

121 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

cess  realized  a  stranger  was  before 
her. 

"Who  art  thou  ?"  she  asked,  perplexed. 
"Can  it  be  that  the  Hermit  has  gone  be 
yond  the  borderlands  and  that  thou  art 
come  to  take  his  place?" 

But  the  figure  in  the  Hermit's  dress 
stood  amazed  and  dumb — had  he  not 
with  his  own  eyes  seen  a  wood  nymph 
leave  her  tree? 

"Tell  me  thy  name !"  she  said  again. 

"I  am  the  Hermit's  disciple — Nordeus 
he  calls  me." 

"Nordeus,"  she  repeated  dreamily, 
"somewhere  I  have  known  that  name — 
Where?  When — I  cannot  remember!" 


122 


AS  IT  15  DESTINED 


XIII 
AS  IT  15  DL5T1NLD 

CLOSE  upon  the  Sea,  so  close  that 
the  churning  breakers  creamed  and 
foamed  against  its  Eastern  boundary, 
lay  the  Moon-garden.  On  the  North, 
South,  and  West  high  hedges  shut  out 
the  other  Gardens  of  the  King,  and  in 
the  center  of  this  enclosure  there  stood, 
like  a  white  lotus  blossom  in  a  cup  of 
green,  a  little  Temple.  From  the  steps 
of  this  Temple  spread  an  uninterrupted 
vista  of  the  Sea,  and  at  the  Garden's 
edge,  where  steep  cliffs  ran  sheer  to 
the  water  below,  was  a  marble  bench 
curved  like  the  new  moon  and  set 
against  clumps  of  dense  foliage. 

The  golden  mirrored  surface  of  the 
Sea  reflected  the  rising  Sun,  and  upon 
the  marble  bench  the  Princess  stirred. 
Turning  her  restless  gaze  from  the 
swirling  spray  that  dashed  against  the 

125 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

cliffs,  she  let  her  glance  fall  upon  the 
columns  of  the  Temple  standing  fair 
and  calm — emblems  of  strength,  and 
beautiful  tranquillity. 

Although  the  heart  of  the  Princess 
weighed  heavily  within  her  breast;  al 
though  every  wax-white  flower  and 
every  beauty  of  marble  carving  of 
bench  and  Temple  added  actuality  to  her 
woe,  this  Garden  of  her  Fate  had  drawn 
her  like  a  lodestone,  while  all  the  world 
was  yet  asleep. 

She  had  always  known  that,  like  the 
other  daughters  of  her  race,  she  must 
in  the  fitting  time  be  given  in  marriage 
to  the  Prince  whom  Destiny,  through 
the  instrument  of  her  father's  command, 
would  send.  She  knew  that  she  must, 
in  the  appointed  hour  of  moonlit  night, 
descend  those  marble  steps  and  give  her 
hand  to  the  husband  who  would  await 
her  in  this  very  Garden.  Before  another 
golden  sun  should  rise  beyond  the  pur 
ple  circle  of  the  Sea,  Alae'ia,  the  Prin 
cess  of  Ateria,  would  be  the  wife  of  a 
Barbarian  stranger,  the  Crown  Prince 
of  the  North. 

In  this  dawning  hour  of  her  wedding- 
day,  despairingly  she  held  her  arms  up- 
126 


As  It  Is  Destined 

stretched,  praying  the  Deity  for  strength 
to  do  the  thing  which  Fate  demanded; 
while  through  her  soul  rang  one  word 
only,  "Nordeus!" 

Wider  and  wider  spread  the  gold  re 
flection  upon  the  surface  of  the  Sea ;  the 
soft  rosy  canopy,  all  pinned  with  wink 
ing  stars,  merged  into  starless  blue,  and 
new  Day  burst  glorious  upon  the  wak 
ing  world.  For  the  last  time,  the  Prin 
cess  took  her  way  to  the  Forest,  where 
she  sat  long  with  the  Hermit  in  his  hut. 

"And  I  complained,  dost  thou  remem 
ber,  Master,  that  there  was  no  great 
thing  for  me  to  do!  Ah,  would  I  were 
no  Princess,  but  merely  the  Forest 
maid  that  Nordeus  thought  me,  when 
he  did  beseech  that  I  should  let  him 
journey  to  his  father  asking  that  he 
demand  of  thee  my  hand  in  marriage. 
Bitterly  hard  it  was  to  tell  him  that  my 
life  was  vowed  apart  from  wedded  hap 
piness;  bitterly  hard  to  frame  an  expla 
nation  which  should  tell  no  lie,  and  yet 
must  end  all  dreams  of  love. 

"Once  I  even  dared  to  hope  that  'La'ia' 
might  descend  the  Temple  steps  and 
give  her  heart  and  soul  as  well  as  out- 
held  hands  to — Nordeus.  Why!  why, 

127 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

must  I  forswear  what  other  maids  may 
have  as  their  crowning  happiness;  they 
are  no  more  flesh  and  blood  than  I !" 

"Has  all  that  thou  hast  learned  come 
to  this,  my  child,  that  thou  wouldst  set 
thy  puny  wishes  against  thine  ordained 
Fate?  What  is  best  for  thee,  will  be." 

But  the  Princess  in  her  grief  cried, 
"Do  not  mock  me,  Master!  Thou  art 
but  a  Hermit — and  cannot  understand. 
What  though  thou  hast  probed  each  hid 
den  mystery!  Love  is  the  greatest  of 
them  all !  Thou  art  but  a  Hermit,  thou 
canst  not  feel  as  I,  who  in  the  flower  of 
my  youth  must  yet  forswear  its  joy." 
Then  overwhelmed  with  woe  she  buried 
her  face  in  her  arms. 

Perchance  the  Princess  was  right,  the 
Hermit  did  not  understand ;  for  as  he 
watched  her  quivering  shoulders,  there 
flitted  in  the  corners  of  his  lips  the 
shadow  of  a  smile,  and  though  his  eyes 
were  kind  they  had  the  look  of  one  who 
pities  a  child  solely  because  it  cries,  but 
feels  no  pity  for  its  grief. 

Suddenly  from  the  Forest  the  Prin 
cess  heard  the  music  of  Nordeus !  Her 
senses  wavered  between  rapture  and  pain. 
For  his  wonderful  melody  expressed  all 
128 


As  It  Is  Destined 

that  was  in  her  own  heart:  the  tender 
love  of  woman,  and  man's  stronger  love 
for  her,  yet  through  it  ran  a  strain  of 
sadness — as  of  farewell  to  all  that  life 
holds  dear.  Gradually  the  deeper,  fuller 
notes  grew  stronger,  and  to  the  Princess 
they  rang  like  Victory ! — the  Victory  of 
the  Soul's  conquering,  which  is  stronger 
than  Life  or  Death. 

The  Princess  slowly  raised  her  head, 
"For  aught  I  spoke  in  passion,  forgive 
me,  Master,  the  grief  I  felt  narrowed  my 
vision  within  the  limits  of  my  pain. 
Fear  not  that  other  eyes  than  thine  shall 
divine  my  sorrow !  To-night  I,  Alaeia, 
will  descend  the  Temple  steps  and  give 
my  hand,  without  one  tremor,  to  my 
husband,  the  Barbarian  Prince  of  the 
North!  aye,  Barbarian  though  he  prove 
to  be,  or  puppet  Princeling,  it  little  mat 
ters  to  his  bride,  whom  every  other  maid 
in  all  Ateria  doubtless  envies.  Nay — 
nay,  I  say  this  not  in  lamentation ;  I 
was  but  musing  on  the  mask  each  mor 
tal  wears  no  less  than  Torqueo,  who, 
lucky  Fool !  may  wear  his  brazenly.  Ah, 
dear  Master,  forget  this  seeming  weak 
ness,  for  in  truth  grief  shall  not  gain 
upon  my  heart,  my  very  love  for  Nor- 
129 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

deus  shall  give  me  strength  to  do  my 
part  in  being  worthy  of  his  memory." 

Bending  almost  to  his  sandals,  she 
kissed  his  robe;  then  pausing  for  a 
moment,  as  though  to  engrave  each  de 
tail  of  the  surrounding  scene  upon  her 
memory,  she  left  the  hut. 

And  as  he  watched  her  go,  the  Her 
mit's  face  was  radiant. 

Near  the  entrance  to  the  Labyrinth, 
the  youth  she  loved  stood  waiting. 
"Nordeus,"  she  said,  "my  lessons  are 
learned,  and  I  may  come  no  more  to  the 
Hermit's  hut.  This  is  our  last  hour — " 
Her  voice  faltered  and  she  could  say  no 
further,  but  the  youth  cried: 

"This  hour  thy  last,  thou  sayest! 
Then  Fate  is  kind,  for  I  have  that  to  tell 
thee  which  had  seemed  too  hard  before : 
At  noon  this  day  my  freedom's  end  has 
come  and  I,  to  keep  the  pledge  I  made 
my  father,  must  return  to  the  country 
whence  I  came.  But  see,  the  shadows 
measure  to  the  river's  edge  and  many 
moments  of  this  last  glad  day  remain." 

So  together  they  sat  upon  the  river's 
bank  while  in  the  thoughts  of  each  the 
subject  was  the  same.  After  a  silence 
Nordeus  began :  "Listen,  Laia,  for  in  my 

130 


As  It  Is  Destined 

heart  there  is  a  song,  wherein  a  moon 
lit  Sea  with  ceaseless  rhythm  pounds 
upon  the  rocks  below  a  Garden,  wonder 
ful  as  in  a  dream-world  night.  Within 
this  Garden,  flooded  by  the  moon,  two 
lovers  stand,  hand  locked  in  hand; 
their  two  hearts  beating  stronger  than 
the  rhythmic  Sea.  Ah,  Laia — let  us 
dream  the  distant  Garden  and  flooding 
moonlight  all  our  own !" 

But  the  words  gripped  the  heart  of  the 
Princess,  for  she  thought,  "It  is  the  soul 
of  Nordeus  reading  my  fate,  where  the 
mortal  mind  of  my  beloved  may  not 
understand."  Yet  her  lips  smiled,  for 
she  would  not  let  sadness  mar  their  last 
moments. 

The  Sun  reached  the  highest  point  in 
the  Heavens,  and  though  the  color  paled 
upon  the  lips  and  cheeks  of  the  Princess, 
her  voice  was  quiet  and  her  eyes  were 
calm  as  she  said : 

"The  hour  has  come  which  shows 
how  little  we  may  map  the  destiny  of 
our  finite  lives;  in  this  moment  I  may 
tell  thee  what  thou  must  have  known 
these  many  moons,  that  in  leaving  thee 
I  leave  all  that  makes  life  dear — and  in 
this  hour  the  heart  of  Laia  dies." 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

But  deep  in  the  eyes  of  the  youth 
there  gleamed  a  little  light  like  a  faint 
reflection  from  the  Hermit's  own.  "We 
may  not  pierce  the  veil  of  Destiny,  be 
loved,  we  may  not  even  say  our  hearts, 
though  they  seem  shattered,  are  about 
to  die. 

"What  though  this  hour  be  filled  with 
sorrow  and  the  haunting  phantoms  of 
future  years  stretch  hopelessly  before 
us!  In  the  great  ALL,  of  what  small 
moment  are  the  years  to  come,  if  we  re 
member.  Life  is  but  a  day  and  all  the 
glorious  morning  hours  have  been  our 
own.  What  is  an  afternoon?  To-mor 
row  is  another  day,  and  to-morrow ! 
thou  love  of  my  soul,  we  meet  in  our 
next  rebirth." 


132 


THL  MARRIAGE  OF  THE 
PRINCE55 


XIV 
THE  MARRIAGE  OF  THE  PRINCE55 

IN  the  hour  before  sundown,  music 
sounded  in  all  parts  of  the  City,  can 
non  boomed,  and  lusty  throats  grew 
hoarse  in  acclamation  of  the  Crown 
Prince  of  the  North.  Alone,  in  advance 
of  his  glittering  train,  he  rode  through 
streets  hung  with  flying  streamers  and 
bordered  with  garlands;  through  the 
cheering  multitude  to  the  Palace  draw 
bridge,  whose  heavy  chains  were  trans 
formed  into  ropes  of  flowers. 

Within  the  Palace  the  great  Hall 
filled.  The  King,  the  Queen,  and  all 
their  court,  the  dignitaries  of  the  City 
took  their  places;  while  all  eyes  turned 
in  amazement  at  the  majestic  bearing  of 
the  "Barbarian"  who,  amidst  his  splen 
did  retinue,  unconcernedly  awaited  his 
bride. 

135 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

Minutes  passed  and  still  she  came  not. 
The  King  grew  uneasy  and  spoke  with 
Torqueo,  the  young  Duke  Artaras 
flushed  with  hope,  the  courtiers  won 
dered,  while  the  maids  of  honor  whis 
pered  that,  might  the  Princess  see  the 
bridegroom,  never  would  she  delay ! 

Alone  the  Prince  stood  seemingly  un 
moved. 

At  last  there  was  a  stir!  The  Prin 
cess  entered,  weighed  down  by  her  robe 
of  jewels  which  with  each  even  step 
swung  forward,  and  then  again  hung 
rigid  with  each  step's  pause.  The  glit 
tering  pendants  of  the  heavy  diadem  fell 
from  her  temples  to  her  feet,  and  over 
her  face  were  drawn  three  veils  so  that 
none  might  know  what  emotion  stirred 
her  heart. 

The  air  hung  heavy  with  incense ; 
the  echo  of  the  last  horns,  bells,  and 
cymbals  faded;  the  final  invocations  had 
been  pronounced.  Then  the  bride's  at 
tendants  removed  her  veils  and  all  the 
assemblage  saw  her  face,  wondrously 
beautiful,  though  its  ivory  paleness  was 
intensified  by  the  shadows  beneath  her 
drooping  lashes. 

Not  for  an  instant  did  she  raise  her 
136 


The  Marriage  of  the  Princess 

glance  toward  him  who  was  now  her 
husband;  whereas  no  sooner  had  the 
Prince  beheld  her  countenance  than  his 
indifference  vanished  and  he  bent  for 
ward  eagerly  with  manifest  delight  in 
the  revelation  of  the  beauty  of  his  bride. 
Immediately  her  attendants  closed 
around  her,  and  she  was  borne  to  the 
little  Temple  in  the  Moon-garden. 

Here  her  maids  of  honor  arrayed  her 
in  robes  of  shimmering  silver,  pearls  they 
braided  in  her  hair.  Adoringly  they 
lingered  over  each  ornament  that  might 
most  enhance  her  beauty  for  the  hal 
lowed  hour,  when  the  ascendant  moon 
should  reveal  her  husband  awaiting 
her  at  the  foot  of  the  Temple's  steps. 
Softly,  as  though  in  fear  of  displacing 
one  perfect  fold  of  drapery,  her  maids 
withdrew.  The  departing  torchlight  dap 
pled  faintly  upon  her  loveliness — and 
then  the  Princess  cast  herself  prone 
upon  the  marble  floor. 

Like  a  great  dazzling  frosty  bubble, 
the  full  moon  hung  poised  against  the 
indigo  sky.  Gradually  the  white  shafts 
of  light  crept  through  the  Temple's 
open  portal  to  where  the  Princess  lay. 

137 


Woven  in  the  Tapestry 

Gradually,  their  silent  radiance  drew 
near  her  outstretched  form ;  then  spread 
ing  over  hand  and  arm  and  shoulder, 
their  gleaming  caresses  reached  her 
eyes.  Startled,  her  wandering  con 
sciousness  awoke  to  the  dreaded  hour's 
demand.  Slowly  she  arose,  and  then 
with  calm,  even  step  emerged  from  be 
neath  the  shadows  of  the  white-stemmed 
peristyle,  while  the  caressing  moon 
light  rippled  down  her  trailing  draperies. 

Midway  down  the  steps  she  paused, 
pressing  her  hands  against  her  wildly 
fluttering  heart ;  for  borne  upon  the 
night  air,  as  clearly  as  though  the  sound 
were  real,  she  seemed  to  hear  the  song 
of  Nordeus. 

With  utmost  courage  she  cast  his  im 
age  from  her  thoughts.  Unfalteringly 
down  the  steps  she  went;  a  gliding 
breath  of  light  and  moon  shadow.  Sud 
denly  she  stopped,  bent  forward,  as  she 
strove  to  pierce  the  silvery  haze  obscur 
ing  the  features  of  her  husband.  One 
moment  she  swayed — and  then  there 
broke  from  her  lips  a  rapt  inbreathed 
cry,  "Nordeus !" 

-  Within  this  Garden,  wonderful  as  in  a 

dream-world   night,   these   lovers   stood. 

138 


The  Marriage  of  the  Princess 

No  further  word  she  spoke,  and  no  word 
he;  but  close,  close  about  her  he  drew 
his  arms,  as  heart  beat  to  heart  with 
louder  rhythm  than  the  distant  Sea. 


THE  END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL    FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  «1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


8  H 


5   21  1941 

14flar52DP 


**jn[ 


LD  21-50???,- 8,- 3 2 


08212 


41J 372 


^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


